On The Other Side Of Despair
by r4ven3
Summary: This story - of 9 chapters - opens several weeks after Ruth's death. It follows on from my earlier fic, "Conversations In Cyprus", opening 2 years after that story ends. Hefty doses of Malcolm W-J and Jude Trinder. Rated T, but M from Chapter 7. Mostly AU.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Kudos owns Spooks characters. Jude Trinder was formed in my head... as was Dr Andrew Khan and Douglas Moore.**_

_**This story takes a little setting up, so bear with me.**_

* * *

"_Where does one go from a world of insanity? Somewhere on the other side of despair."_

_**T S Eliot.**_

* * *

_Thames embankment – Thursday 1.12 pm:_

"I'd been waiting for you to contact me," Jude said soberly, desultorily picking at the shredded lettuce in her ham salad sandwich. "I think this sandwich was made around the time of the Roman invasion." She looked across the bench to her companion. "How is he? How's Harry?"

"I've only seen him once since the funeral. He's …... not good. He looks like he died along with her, but his body has had to go on."

"Mmm. I've seen that look." Jude took a wary bite from her sandwich, and then smiled slightly. "This is not bad at all. It must be the mayonnaise. Here, do you want some?" She held out the other half of her sandwich towards Malcolm, who shook his head.

"There's a reason I wanted to talk to you …... out here, away from your office."

"I thought there might be. The walls have ears and all that. I don't do killing, Malcolm, not unless I have to, anyway. If you want Ruth's killer neutralised, you'll have to pay someone else."

Malcolm looked across the bench at Jude and smiled. She reminded him a lot of Ruth when she'd first come to work at Section D…... spontaneous and unselfconscious, more than a little bit ditsy. "I do have a reason. Yes. When did you last see Ruth to talk to?"

"Oh, that would be back soon after Harry suggested she move out of his house. It was a year ago, give or take …. maybe nine, ten months. It was after that kerfuffle over that genetic weapon, and one of Harry's less mentally balanced officers kidnapped her. Harry found temporary accommodation for her in a MI5 safe house for her protection. _Really!_ Sometimes Harry can be a first class prat. Ruth was so low. She didn't know whether they could ever get back together. Did they?"

"I spoke to her only a week before she …... she wanted my advice on something. She was looking to buy a house in the country, and had put in an offer on a cottage in Suffolk, her idea being to convince Harry to leave the service and retire with her. They seemed to be …... moving closer together again. But there were …... problems with the Russians, and the CIA wanted him for questioning over Jim Coaver's death. I hadn't spoken to Harry, but I knew he cared deeply for her, and only ever wanted what was best for her."

"As he sees it."

"True. One of his many shortcomings is his tunnel vision …... fine in the job, but disastrous in relationships of the heart." Malcolm hesitated, watching Jude as she tucked into her sandwich. "Oh …... and I bought you this," he said, pushing a take-away coffee across the bench to her.

"Oh goody – caffeine. Just what I need," she quipped, smiling up at him.

"There is something I needed to talk to you about, but it _is_ quite delicate."

"I thought it might be. You're not about to ask me out, are you Malcolm?"

"Heavens no. I recognise my limitations." He smiled across at her, the skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes. Jude threw her head back and laughed, exposing the skin of her throat. _For a mid-fifties woman,_ Malcolm thought, _she's quite …... delightful_. He felt sad suddenly that he wasn't more forthright, more a man of the world.

"So what's the big secret?" Jude asked, tucking into the remains of her sandwich. "I must go back to that snack bar and ask them the brand of this mayonnaise. It's really very good." She looked up at Malcolm to see him staring at her. "Sorry, it must be the caffeine. My brain cells get a bit scrambled, and my mouth just veers off on tangents of a random nature." Jude's free hand flapped around her face as she spoke.

"I've been doing some delving," Malcolm began.

"Tell me something I don't know, Malcolm."

"I'm not normally one to follow my gut feelings. That's for those with more confidence that I possess. I generally rely on my technological skills to guide me, to show me where to go next, what to do. Technology is logical, programming is logical. You put in information in an ordered and predictable sequence, and the outcomes delivered can be relied upon as being accurate. This belief has never let me down."

"Until now," Jude said, scrunching the paper bag her sandwich had been in.

"Until now. It was at Ruth's funeral that I first had the feeling. The whole of Section D was there, and they were all in pieces. Harry sat beside me with a straight back, but I could feel how much he was holding in. His face was grey, and he couldn't speak; he barely uttered a word for the whole day, and I was with him for most of it. He was strung like piano wire. I felt that were anyone to have touched him, he would have shattered into a thousand pieces. It was the politicians who gave something away. Towers, and the rest of that Whitehall crowd – there were at least six or seven of them there. They seemed …... triumphant …... like they'd achieved something. There was not a look of regret or sadness on the faces of any of them. Oh, I know that politicians are unctuous and self-serving, and that's on their better days, but there was a jovial air about them. They seemed puffed up and pleased with themselves. After the service, Towers shook Harry's hand and said a whole lot of meaningless words about Ruth. Harry barely heard him, which is something for which I'm grateful. Had Harry seen in Towers' face the same breeziness and confidence I saw, he may have acted in a way not in keeping with the gravity of the occasion. Their strange behaviour got me thinking, and then when Harry went back to work just under three weeks after Ruth died, my intuition went into overdrive."

"So you suspect Whitehall of something, Malcolm. You're not saying that they killed Ruth. They're self-serving, as you say, but what would they gain by killing her?"

Jude took a large swig from her take-away coffee, and seeing a film of milky foam on her upper lip, Malcolm touched his own upper lip, and then pointed to her.

"Sorry," she said, "you can take the girl out of the country, but not the country out of the girl," as she delicately dabbed her lip with a tissue.

"Your father's estate in Hertfordshire is hardly the country, Jude."

"It was in the 1960's. Lots of cows and horses, rain, mud and manure. That's country in my book."

Malcolm waited until Jude had once again settled, and was paying attention to him.

"Jude …... I pursued the thought that Whitehall may have had a secret …... and I've uncovered something …... strange. I need you to come around to my place – now, or after work, it doesn't matter. There's something I need to show you. I need another set of eyes, just in case I'm chasing shadows. Do you remember where I live?"

"Vaguely, but you'd better give me the address. I haven't time now, but I can be there between 7 and 7.30."

.

_London. Home of Malcolm Wynn-Jones. 7.37 pm_:

Jude sat in an armchair in Malcolm's office, a tub of take-away chicken and almonds in one hand, and a plastic fork in the other. She tapped the fork on her bottom lip while Malcolm brought up a series of documents on the desktop of his computer.

"You must do something about your diet, Jude. Do you ever cook for yourself?"

"I didn't know my apartment had a kitchen until one morning I decided I wanted to make myself some Marmite on toast. I find kitchens daunting. I'd rather someone else do the cooking. That was one thing Douglas was good at."

"And how is Douglas?"

"In denial. Still chasing women half his age. Whenever he wails about how lonely he is, I suggest he get a dog."

"As ex-husbands go, though -"

"Yes, I know. He's better than most."

"Here they are," Malcolm said, stepping back so that Jude could get a closer look.

Jude put down her Chinese dinner on the end of the desk, and peered at the screen, the plastic fork still in her right hand. "This is paperwork from St Thomas's Hospital," she said, squinting at the screen, even though she was wearing reading glasses. As she was about to touch the screen with her fork, Malcolm's hand intervened.

"This series of documents on the monitor on the left is the official record of Ruth Evershed's stay in St Thomas's. It gives a date and time of admission - DOA - and this next one is her body being transferred to the morgue. Note the name of the person who formally identified her body."

"William Towers. But he _was_ her employer at the time."

"I also happen to know that she had Harry down as her next of kin. Harry never saw her body in the hospital. When he rang to ask if they needed him to identify her, he was told it had already been done by the Home Secretary. Harry wasn't happy, but nor was he suspicious. At the time, neither was I." Malcolm shifted his attention to the next monitor in his bank of four monitors. "I need you to look at this next series of hospital documents. These are the real records. They remain on the hospital's mainframe, and only a first class hacker can access them." Malcolm smiled at Jude, a rare look of pride in his eyes. "These are the original documents, and they remain for good."

Jude leaned over Malcolm's shoulder, and again peered at the screen. "The admission form looks the same …... then the discharge form. _Discharge?_"

"Check out the date of discharge."

"Twenty-fourth. Twelve days later. She was discharged."

"Which means?" prompted Malcolm.

"_Holy Mother Of God! _ I'm not even a Catholic, Malcolm, but it looks like …..."

"_She's alive_," they said together.

* * *

_**A/N: Yes, I know ... a predictable development, but please bear with me. There is a point (I think ...)**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews for Chapter 1 …... most kind. I hope the rest of this fic lives up to expectations.**_

_**Still in setting-up phase …...**_

* * *

Jude sat up straight, turned to directly face Malcolm, his face reflecting hope. "So this means Ruth isn't dead?"

"I don't know, Jude. That is why I'm showing this to you. I have my suspicions, though. You're up-to-date with all the software, aren't you?"

"As much as I can be. What are you saying?"

Malcolm sat down in front of the keyboard, and after a series of keystrokes, he opened a small window over the official documents. He then opened another window. "Look at the dates on the official entries for Ruth."

"It says on the form that she was admitted on the twelfth, and taken straight to the morgue, where she was admitted on the morgue register."

"But the date that entry was made was …..."

"The sixteenth. That doesn't seem quite right, Malcolm."

"That's because it isn't. The false record – the official record – was created after it was clear she'd live. It was created the day before her funeral."

"Next question, Malcolm, must be -"

"Who authorised the entry?"

"Yes."

"Dr Andrew Khan."

"I was afraid you might say that. I was hoping he was dead, or had gone back to Pakistan."

"Jude, you know as well as I do that Andrew was born in Paddington, and his father was born in -"

"Wandsworth. Rafiq Khan was born in Wandsworth. I was just indulging my repressed racism born of a love affair gone wrong. He was such a beautiful man, Malcolm, but such an utter bastard."

"And you were the wounded innocent."

"Maybe not quite …... innocent, but Douglas and I had not long been divorced. I was looking for someone …... something …... to prove I was still capable of pulling."

Malcolm looked away for a moment, and took a careful breath, before turning back to face her. "Quite. And so I thought …..."

"Oh, Malcolm, you saw Andrew's name and you thought of me? How ….. how kind."

"Well, you two were …... er …... close."

"That was eighteen years ago, and we didn't part on the best of terms." Jude stood back from Malcolm, and gave him her very best death stare. "You want me to ask him about _this_?" She threw her hand in the direction of the monitors.

"If you could, it would help enormously."

"How?"

"He probably knows who authorised his authorisation, but if you could find out what happened to Ruth after she was discharged, that would be a bonus."

Jude rolled her eyes at Malcolm, and then sighed heavily. Malcolm smiled back, because when she pursed her lips, and rolled her eyes like that, she could have been Juliet Shaw's twin sister.

_Home of Harry Pearce. Thursday 10.48 pm:_

Harry sat slumped in an armchair, in his hand a glass of Scotch whiskey – neat – his eyes barely taking in the continual chatter and gabble of the BBC News Channel on his TV.

"So this is what hell is like?" he murmured, his eyes on the sofa across from his chair, the same sofa on which he and Ruth had sat together most nights during the twelve and a half months they had lived together. "There was I thinking hell was me living here and you living in that crummy flat I put you in, but now I know that hell is much, much worse than that."

He took a swig from his glass, and leaned his head against the back of his chair, letting out a long and shuddering sigh. Harry then spontaneously drifted into his favourite fantasy of all. The same one he'd indulged in when Ruth went to work for Towers, and so instead of seeing her daily, he'd see her perhaps three, four times a week. _He'd come home from work late, and she'd be upstairs in the bath, waiting for him. She'd beckon with her finger, and so he'd strip off then and there, dropping his clothes in an untidy heap on the bathroom floor. He'd climb into the bath behind her, and slip his arms around her, pulling her back against him, so that they'd lie back, the water covering their bodies up to their necks, a layer of fragrant bubbles on the surface. Unseen to anyone watching (and of course, there was no-one – even Scarlet was more interested in the hearth in the living room than what he and Ruth had got up to together) their hands would move over the skin of the other …..._

He shook himself out of his fantasy. It was as unhealthy as his drinking, perhaps moreso. At least his drinking was real. He got up from his chair and poured himself another drink. He was steady on his feet, and his speech was clear. Perhaps his body was becoming used to his increased alcohol intake. He sighed heavily.

It wasn't that he wanted to die. He just no longer possessed the will to live. Not in a world without her in it.

_Thames embankment. Friday 1.34 pm:_

"Thank you for meeting me, Calum. I'd thought of contacting Erin Watts, but I knew she'd not agree to see me."

"Yes, she's a stickler for the rules, is Erin. Bit of a Lady Boss, if you know what I mean. I have to admit I was flattered."

"Flattered?"

"That the Legend Who Is Malcolm Wynn-Jones wanted to meet with me."

"Don't be, Calum. I needed to speak with someone who was a witness to Ruth's death, and that someone had to be a person I could trust."

"Why not Harry?"

"Harry's not in the best space at present."

"Tell me about it. I always found him to be a trifle …... stern, bit since we lost Ruth he's been ….. well, let's say he's not been at his best. Don't get me wrong. He's on the ball at work, maybe too much so, but he's pretty miserable. I think he's lonely."

"Yes, I dare say he is, given what's happened. Who wrote the report on Ruth's death? I take it a report was written and submitted through official channels."

"I think it was Erin, she being the most senior officer present …... aside from Harry, and he didn't come back to work for a few weeks."

"Eighteen days, to be precise," said Malcolm, looking our over the river, a grey mass on a grey day.

"You're saying it was a bit too soon?"

"I'm surprised he returned to work at all. He must see Ruth in every part of the building."

"Maybe that comforts him."

"Perhaps." Malcolm turned to face Calum on the bench. "Did you know, Calum, that this bench is the same one Harry and Ruth used to sit on when they'd get away from the Grid and talk about the job …... and other things?"

"No, I hadn't known that. I knew they'd lived together before I joined Section D, and then that drama with Lucas North – or whatever the hell his name was – had led Harry to thinking Ruth would be safer living somewhere else. Not exactly the smoothest operator with the female persuasion, is he?"

"No, Calum, he's not. I asked you here for a reason. I'm doing my own investigation into Ruth's death. I have some suspicions. Needless for me to say that what we say here must be in the strictest confidence."

"Naturally, squire."

"Calum, you can call me Malcolm."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. I need you to tell me everything you can from the day. From the time you arrived at the bunker. Do you mind if I record you? It's just that this is very important to me."

"Sure. No probs, squ- …... Malcolm."

_The Garden Caf__é__. Regents Park. Saturday 2.25 pm_

Jude Trinder sat at a table at the back. She would have preferred a table under one of the outdoor umbrellas, but the day was overcast and cold, and she didn't fancy having her face turning blue while she waited for Andrew Khan. In all honesty, she didn't expect him to show. He may have agreed to meet her just to save himself the trouble of hanging up on her.

Then she saw him striding towards her. Still striking, streaks of grey through his very thick, dark hair, which he still wore quite long. _Still the hippy, eh, Andrew? Still out to save the world? _ He sat down in the chair opposite. No kiss, no hand shake, just a nod of his breathtakingly handsome head.

"Jude."

"Andrew. Thank you for coming."

"As I said on the phone, I don't have long. Astrid has taken the boys to play football, so I only have a little over an hour."

"Did you tell her you were meeting me?"

"Are you mad? She has a contract out on you, Jude -"

"Why? You were not even married when we were together."

"We were about to get engaged."

"What I'd like to know is why she has it in for me. Why wasn't it your head she wanted on a platter?"

"Is this why you brought me here, because if it is, I may as well go."

"No. It's something more serious than Astrid's temper. Roughly twelve weeks ago you signed off – authorised – a change to the records at St Thomas's Hospital. The name of the patient was Ruth Evershed. She worked for the Home Office, in the office of the Home Secretary. There would have been a number of Home Office personnel hovering around."

"Yes, I remember that one. Tricky. I didn't want to do it. It was a blatant lie and cover-up. I was told it was a matter of national security. I thought it was bollocks then, and I still do."

"They're politicians, Andrew, what do you expect?"

"I signed it because they threatened me. I have had …."

"An affair? Affairs? A regular shitload of affairs?"

Jude enjoyed the moment as Andrew stared into his glass, eyes down, his expression no longer cocky. "Probably the latter."

"And there are some ….. one ….. which is current?"

He nodded. "She's a politician's wife, but a minor politician – a backbencher."

"I guess that makes it alright, then. You never could get the hang of fidelity, could you? So, what would happen if your affairs became known?"

"Public humiliation, closely followed by financial ruin."

"Who authorised you to do the authorising?"

"The Home Secretary, but I could tell that it wasn't his idea. I strongly suspect that he was following orders from higher up."

"The PM?"

"Most likely, but the order came from within the party. I can't tell you any more than that."

"And what about Ruth Evershed? Where did she go after she was discharged?"

"I organised for her to go to a private hospital in Oxfordshire. At the time she was discharged, she still required medical attention, and at least another six weeks bed rest, and the Home Office was paying. I know one of the physiotherapists who works there. Don't ask me any details about her, but I have her mobile number, if you want to make further enquiries. My responsibility ended when Ms Evershed was discharged from St Thomas's."

As soon as he'd given Jude the physiotherapist's number, Andrew Khan left, leaving a half empty bottle of Chardonnay.

"Every cloud _does_ have a silver lining," Jude said to herself, pouring herself another glass of wine.


	3. Chapter 3

_Office of the Home Secretary. Wednesday 4.07pm:_

"You can't possibly be serious, Home Secretary."

"Harry, does this face look like I'm joking?"

"No, I can't say it does."

Both men moved uncomfortably in their chairs.

"I gather that your weight is not fully behind this plan."

"No, Harry, my quite considerable weight is resisting this for all it's worth. To my mind, this is a sure pathway to disaster. It's represents a slippery slope of mammoth proportions."

"But it will happen no matter what we do."

"Yes, I rather think so. The reasons behind this are purely political."

"And you have no option other than to follow orders."

"Not if I wish to remain as Home Secretary."

Harry sighed heavily, weighing what he had been asked to do. Were Ruth alive, he would already have replied with a resounding `No'. With her being gone, a refusal would no doubt result in his instant dismissal, and then what would he do with his life? How would he fill his days?"

"What happens if I refuse to co-operate?"

"You would be decommissioned, but not before another enquiry, only this time you'd not get off as lightly as you did at the last one. Erin Watts is the new face of MI-5, and you would be seen as expendable, Harry, and you would be made an example of. It is expedient for them to be using you in this way, but were you to refuse, they will hang you out to dry -"

"And you too, I imagine."

"No doubt. There are wolves barking at my door also, ready to tear me limb from limb, and they all wear three-piece suits, silk ties, and highly polished shoes."

"Why do you do it, Home Secretary?"

"You've lost me, Harry."

"The job. Politics. It's far dirtier than my job."

"Yes, it is. Knives are stuck in backs with a smile, and careers destroyed on a whim. I suppose it's the thrill of the bear pit. It's akin to playing Russian roulette every day." Towers managed an embarrassed smile.

Harry pursed his lips, a gesture showing his distaste. "Mmm," he said, knowing that for Towers, it was definitely the glory and the power.

"So, you'll do it?"

"I don't have much choice, do I?"

"Not a lot, no. Ruth would have …..." and then Towers stopped, noting the tight expression on Harry's face. "I'm sorry. I'm not sure what Ruth would have thought."

"Well, I do. She would have been disgusted with the whole idea, just as I am. Firstly she would have resigned from the Home Office, and then she would have tried her hardest to talk me out of it. In fact …..." No, he had no need to say more. He stood up, acknowledged Towers with a polite, "Home Secretary," and quickly left the office.

Once out of the building, Harry stood on the footpath and lifted his face to the grey and overcast sky. _What am I doing, Ruth? How can I possibly keep going? What would you say to me were you here with me now?_ He sighed heavily, and needing to clear his head, he decided to walk back to Thames House. Not for the first time that day, Harry missed Ruth desperately. He was sure that her death had left a hole in not only his life, but his soul.

* * *

_Mardi's, London. Thursday 8.34 pm:_

"This is a bit up-market for you, Malcolm," Jude Trinder noted, circling the stem of her wine glass with her fingers, her crimson-painted nails like drops of blood against the glass,

"I thought you might like it, Jude."

"I do, but you also realise this isn't a date, don't you?"

Malcolm smiled. "Of course. I'd not be so presumptuous as to assume such a thing. We are strictly client-service deliverer. That is the sum total of our relationship."

"That's a bit formal," Jude said, and after taking a swig of her Chenin Blanc, "I could get used to this stuff."

Jude sat back, one hand still grasping the stem of her glass of wine, the other resting on the tabletop. Malcolm noticed the nervousness in her fingers, and her struggle between listening in silence, and needing to hit back at him with a cutting remark. She took a deep breath, her eyes on his.

"I spoke to Andrew Khan, or more correctly, he spoke to me." She then filled Malcolm in on Andrew's information. "I also rang the physiotherapist whose number he gave me. Ruth was discharged from the nursing home just over a week ago, and the physio doesn't know where she went. That may be untrue, of course. I posed as a relative – a cousin – who had only just discovered that Ruth had been hospitalised. I'll leave it up to you, Malcolm, to chase her up electronically. My own techies are snowed under at present, so I can't spare them, and my skills are nowhere in the same stratosphere as your own. No doubt Ruth's using a legend, but you're better at sorting that out. You've known her longer."

"Consider it done. There are a number of names she could be using, but I'll have to input her appearance, and her health background also. It shouldn't take too long to find her. She'll need work, so that will narrow down the options."

This time it was Malcolm who hesitated, running his finger along the tabletop where water had been spilt when he'd added water to his whiskey. "I've spoken to Calum Reid about the day Ruth died. The only thing which seemed out of place to me was the dose of adrenalin she'd been given, and which had been ineffective. I did my own …... research, and I suspect that the adrenalin injector was filled with a form of benzodiazepine which we now call Rohypnol."

"The date rape drug."

"Quite. It was used extensively in the cold war in order to induce memory loss, especially after someone had been interrogated. In high enough doses it can induce a deep level of unconsciousness in which it would be easy for a non-medically trained person to assume the patient is dead. Someone, somewhere, saw an opportunity, and spread the word that Ruth had died."

"Why?"

"We have to examine who would benefit," Malcolm continued, "I am assuming that the same people who faked Ruth's death have an axe to grind with Harry Pearce."

"It would seem so. What do you want me to do next, Malcolm?"

"Nothing for the moment. Attend to your own business, buy Douglas a puppy. I'm meeting with Harry tomorrow night after work. I have no idea what he wants, but if I suspect it's relevant to this, I'll let you know after I've seen him."

"Are you planning to tell him our findings about Ruth?"

"Not yet," Malcolm said, after draining his glass. "He's experienced enough pain in the past few months, not to mention the guilt. I'll not say anything to him until we're certain, and we know where she is."

"And preferably after we've made contact, just in case."

"In case?"

"If she had an overdose of Rohypnol, she may not even remember us."

"She'll remember us, but it's unlikely that she remembers the events immediately prior to her stabbing, and Harry confided to me about a conversation he and Ruth had both before she was stabbed, and then immediately after. If she has no memory of that, then she probably doesn't know that she and Harry had agreed to leave the service and live together. Had she remembered their conversation, surely she would have contacted him by now."

Both sat at the table in silence, contemplating Malcolm's findings. Several minutes passed before either spoke, and then Jude moved her mouth to speak, and then shook her head, as if changing her mind.

"Go on, Jude, say what you want to say."

"But it's ridiculous," she replied.

"Maybe not."

Jude breathed in a deep breath. "I acknowledge what Andrew Khan said that this goes right to the top echelons of the Conservative Party, perhaps even to the PM, but what if …...?"

"What if what?"

"What if Harry knows and is simply playing a part? What if he's in on it?"

"Why would he sanction such an elaborate hoax?"

"We both know how much he wanted to keep Ruth safe, and to what ends he was prepared to go to ensure that. What if this is all it is? What if he designed this? What if things are not as they seem?"

* * *

_The Ship Tavern, Holborn. Friday 9.12 pm:_

Malcolm watched Harry return to their table with drinks for them both, and noted how his body swayed when he walked, world weary and largely disinterested in his surroundings.

"You look tired, Harry."

"It's Friday night, I've been working eighteen hour days for the past three weeks straight, and as busy as I've been, I still can't block out the memory of Ruth's last moments. Yes, Malcolm, I'm tired …... tired and fed up."

Both men concentrated on sipping their drinks – Harry's an Ardberg, and Malcolm's a half of lager – and gazed around the room, seeing little.

"I apologise if I seem out of sorts, Malcolm," Harry ventured, once the air around them felt gentler.

"There's no need, Harry."

"But there is, you see. I'm very angry at the moment, but I'm mostly angry with myself. I can't believe I ever thought that putting Ruth in a safe house was a good idea. I'm surprised she even spoke to me again."

"Did you want to talk about this, Harry? I know next to nothing about relationships, but I'm a good listener."

"I know you are, Malcolm, but I didn't ask you here to talk about Ruth. It's just that -"

"You miss her every moment of every day."

"Yes …..." Harry breathed the word, unable to breathe fully into the word.

"If it helps at all, many of us who knew her loved her deeply, and we all miss her. You're not alone, Harry."

"Thank you. It helps a little to hear that." Harry sighed heavily, his taut shoulders dropping as the tension left him. "I hadn't meant to talk about Ruth, but ….. well, you know why I do. That isn't the reason I asked you here. I'm aware that talking about her won't bring her back. There's something else. Were Ruth still with us, I'd be talking about this with her, but as she's not …..." Harry took another sip of his drink before he continued. "There's something going on, Malcolm. Something very dodgy. I expected pressure on me to resign now that Ruth is gone, but the opposite is true. I've been delivered an ultimatum."

"By whom?"

"The Home Office, through Towers. Putting it simply – which it's not - they are planning to stage a terror attack in London, and that I have my operatives at the ready to save the day, so to speak. I'm told that timing will be everything, as if I need reminding."

"To witness how effective is our security service."

"Exactly. Of course, the PM and the Home Office will take all the glory, and all the terrorists of the world will give us a wide berth."

"That's only in theory, of course."

"That's what I said."

"And who will these terrorists be?"

"I've not been told. I suspect they're tossing up between some of the more gung ho members of Six, or perhaps genuine disaffected young people who would like to play at being a terrorist for a day. Britain is teeming with such people. Either way -"

"It's a recipe for disaster."

"Yes, it is."

"When is this …... attack …... likely to happen?"

"If you were a sociopathic politician, Malcolm, when would you be planning to do this?"

"I'd choose an occasion when the eyes of the world were upon us, and the press were swarming."

"Of course, and with no more royal weddings imminent, that then leaves -"

"The Olympics?"

"Yes, Malcolm. The government are planning to stage a terror attack during the opening ceremony of the London Olympics."

"Bloody Nora!"

* * *

**_A/N: Note the change of chapter numbers from 10 to 9. I had written this story a while ago, and Chapter 10 was just some ideas which I eventually incorporated into Ch. 9._**


	4. Chapter 4

_A one-bedroom flat somewhere outside London. Friday 10.18 pm:_

While Harry and Malcolm are locked in discussion in a pub in London, a lone woman sits sideways in a wide armchair, her legs draped over the arm opposite where her head rests, watching a repeat episode of _Ground Force_. She's not sure why, but she's fascinated by the apparent ease with which a grassy, weed-ridden waste is transformed into a small park in some lucky person's back yard. She hasn't a garden where she lives now. She lives in a small flat – a collection of rooms in a part of what was once a large and elegant home, itself having seen better days. The home has been divided into flats, and the back yard of the house is mostly under concrete, making it easier to roll the wheelie bins to the edge of the road on bin day. Besides, the tenants need somewhere for off-street parking.

_Ground Force_ ends, and she turns off the telly, not sure what she should do next. She has only been at work three days, and as much as she is enjoying it, she misses the cut and thrust of being at the pointy end of things, the place where danger lurks within the shadows. She had enjoyed working for Towers, but most of all she misses the Grid. She also misses Calum and Dimitri – not so much, Erin – but it is still Harry she misses most …... despite everything.

She shouldn't miss him. Somewhere between her accident and the hospital where she spent ten days in recovery, Harry went off her.

"I don't understand this at all," Towers had said on more than one of his daily visits. "I've rung and left I don't know how many messages. I've spoken to Dimitri and Erin, and they promised to pass on the message to him. If he hasn't visited …... well …... I don't know."

In her heavily sedated state, she had not really taken in what he'd said, but now …... now that she is well, and again working, surely he could have at least sent flowers. Surely. They had been moving closer to one another in those last few days …... before whatever had happened to her happened.

As she washes her face, and readies herself for bed, she wonders whether perhaps he saw her accident as an opportunity to cut all ties with her. No, that can't be right …... he'd always been the one to chase _her_. She'd been sure of that, as sure as she is that the sun rises each morning, and the moon at night.

It is only when she is lying on her side in bed, her eyes closed, hoping she will drop easily into sleep, that she begins to again have the memories, and she can't work out whether they are real, or imagined.

Harry answering his phone outside, where it was cold and windy. She's almost certain that actually happened. She can still feel the wind biting her bare skin, and her hair flicking across her face.

Something about secrets. _Why does the word `secrets' create so much emotion in me?_

Holding Harry's hand, and having him smile down at her.

Talking to him about the house she'd wanted to buy. She clearly remembers the house, but surely it has already been sold to someone else.

Harry pushing her out of the way.

Sasha Gavrik striding towards her.

Harry's wet cheek against her own.

None of it makes sense. The images are like random pieces of a long-lost jigsaw puzzle, lost for years, and then found, but with most of the key pieces missing.

No matter how much she adjusts the pieces of the puzzle, she still can't clearly remember the events leading to her accident, and she needs to know that more than she's needed to know anything. She feels the tears on her cheeks, and yet she is unaware of sadness …... only of a deep frustration and confusion.

She sleeps.

* * *

_Office of Jude Trinder – Trinder Services. Tuesday. 8.42 am:_

"You need to tell me where you'll be, Jude." Douglas Moore draped his right leg elegantly over his left, as he lifted his right eyebrow, and pulled the cuffs of his shirt down so that his gold cufflinks were on full display.

"Jesus, Douglas, we're not married any more, or have you forgotten?"

"I thank God every day that we're not. While you're the figurehead of this operation, you need to be in this office at least from nine to five. Don't tell me it's another one of your old spook friends come to call."

"It's more than that. It could very well be a national disaster."

"Then let MI5 deal with it, Jude. You no longer have to concern yourself with national security."

Jude got up from her seat behind her desk, and straightened her jacket. Douglas noticed again how the jacket hugged her body. Such a shame she no longer found him attractive.

"Is it Harry Pearce?" he asked. After all, he'd met the section head on a few occasions years before, and had quite liked him. Harry had had rather good taste in suits.

"In a way, yes, but it's much more complicated than that. Look," she said, "I have to go, and I may not be back for a few days, maybe a week, but I'll call Amanda each morning."

"You're leaving _Amanda_ in charge?"

"No, Douglas, I'm leaving you in charge. After all, it is your business too. You can sit in my chair, or you can hide away in that dungeon of yours down the corridor with your precious spreadsheets. It's up to you." She took her coat and her bag from the cherry oak standing coat rack, and walked towards the door. "You do know our current priorities, don't you?" Jude turned to face her ex-husband.

"Of course I do. What do you take me for?"

His answer – too quick, too outraged – told Jude that he wasn't exactly up to speed. Money was Douglas's forte, and he kept track of every penny. "If you need help you can ask either Amanda or Kelvin. They've each been briefed."

Then she walked to the door, opened it, and walked through it. The last Douglas saw of her as the door closed behind her was her straight back, and her shapely legs. He sighed heavily, and slumped in his chair. He would miss their sparring and sniping.

_Home of Malcolm Wynn-Jones. Tuesday 11.12 am:_

Malcolm had set up his dining room as a war room. He had transferred all relevant information to his laptop, which sat open on one end of the table. Then there were several in-trays, all lined up in order of importance. In front of each of three chairs he had placed a note pad and pen. In the middle of the table he'd set up refreshments – a pot of tea and cups, water and glasses, biscuits on a plate. He'd thought of buying a whiteboard, but stopped himself at the last minute. He'd recognised his tendency towards overdoing things. `It's your OCD, Malcolm,' his mother would have said. Malcolm had never agreed with his mother's diagnosis. He saw himself as thorough, which in his mind had always been a virtue.

At exactly 11.15am his front doorbell rang.

"Jude, come in," he said, leading her into the dining room, and offering her refreshments. It appeared Jude had first gone home to change, and was dressed in designer jeans, a soft white shirt, and a burgundy-coloured soft leather jacket.

They sat quietly for a moment, each nursing a cup of tea.

"I forgot to mention earlier, Jude, and it was very remiss of me. You will be assisting me for no fee, or a very minimal fee if you insist on being paid. I thought you may find this project …... stimulating, and your personal relationship with Ruth may perhaps …..."

"Encourage me to work for nothing. Yes, I know that, Malcolm. It's Douglas who scrutinises the accounts, not me. I've only ever worked for the adrenalin rush."

"And the designer suits, and the Lexus convertible."

"That too. I like the benefits which come my way, but I'm not greedy."

"I know, Jude. That is one of the reasons I turn to you whenever I need help." Malcolm turned his attention to his tea, and sipped slowly. They enjoyed another minute or two of companionable silence. "I've asked Calum to come by as soon as his morning is over, so we need to quickly deal with the Ruth side of things first."

"Why? Wouldn't he provide some useful insight into her whereabouts?"

"I don't want to forewarn him, just in case he lets something slip to Harry."

Malcolm then told Jude about his meeting with Harry on the Friday night.

"You know, Malcolm, this doesn't surprise me much. After the last election, when the Conservatives got in, but without a majority, I've been waiting for them to pull some little stunt just to prove to the public and the world how they don't require a majority of seats in order to be effective."

"Define effective."

"I can't, and neither can they, but no doubt it has something to do with public opinion. If the public approves, then they consider their work done."

"I think you're right, Jude. This is definitely a stunt, and a very dangerous one. I suspect there'll be private security companies providing the bulk of the security at the Olympics. That alone will pose difficulties."

"I don't imagine Harry will like that, either."

"No." Malcolm smiled at her, as he sipped his tea. "He won't."

"I'm wondering if there's any way we can hijack the fake terrorist attack before it begins."

"I'll need Calum for that. It's the main reason I'm including him. He's quite creative. I think you'll like him, Jude."

"Sorry, I've jumped ahead. I imagine you have some information on Ruth."

"I do. I believe that I've found her, and this is where you come in."

"You want me to be the first person to contact her, like I did when she was in Cyprus."

"Yes. Would you be prepared to do that?"

"So long as she's somewhere I can work on my tan, and with the added benefit of good-looking men for me to check out from behind my sunglasses."

"Will Cheltenham do?"

"Cheltenham? That hardly fits the bill. Are you sure?"

"As certain as I am about anything. There's a Ruth Pearce living at the following address ….." Malcolm turned the screen of the laptop so that Jude could read the address, and see the location on the map. "She works three days a week – Wednesday to Friday – in the admin office of Cheltenham College on Bath Road in Cheltenham. She only began work last Wednesday, and her flat is just around the corner. She's close enough that she can walk to and from work."

Malcolm stopped speaking, seeing the look on Jude's face, and the way she was picking at her bottom lip with her fingers. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Jude brought herself back to the present, and sat up straight and looked at Malcolm. "I'm wondering why she's called herself Ruth Pearce? I may be being paranoid, but …..."

"Go on."

"Do you think she and Harry may have planned this? Why would she use his name otherwise?"

"I'm almost certain of two things. One is that Harry is not involved in the plan to hijack the Olympics, although he will no doubt have to play along, or else lose his job. The other is that he truly believes Ruth to be dead. I've watched Harry lie to people when it's been expedient, but I was with him on the day of Ruth's funeral, and believe me, his grief was genuine. I know Ruth well enough to suspect that for now she's living out her own personal fantasy. Maybe she wants to imagine that she's separated from Harry, and that they were married. They lived together for over a year, Jude, and anyone who saw them together could have been forgiven for believing them to be married. They were very close."

"Okay, I'm officially paranoid. So when do you want me to make contact?"

"Is today too soon?"

_Cheltenham. Tuesday 4.22pm:_

Ruth was walking home from Tesco, carrying a shopping bag in each hand. She still hadn't adjusted to shopping for herself. She'd had countless weeks in hospital, and so had become used to having all her needs supplied. Now that she's back to having to take care of herself, it will require some practice before she gets it right. This day, she had bought too much, and her arms ached, and the damaged muscles in her left side were screaming for her to stop. Ahead of her on the road, less than two hundred yards away, she could see the old house where she lived.

She stopped, and put her bags down by her feet. It was then that a sports car drew up beside her, and a familiar figure leapt out of the drivers' seat.

"Do you need a lift?" Jude Trinder asked, her smile wide.

* * *

Ruth invited Jude inside her flat. She really had no other option. As she prepared a pot of tea, she contemplated the similarities with when she had first met Jude in Cyprus. _Jude is my rescuer_, she thought as the tea steeped in the pot. Suddenly, she saw things more clearly. She _hoped_ she saw things more clearly. She turned to Jude, who was putting her shopping away, mostly in a random fashion. Ruth doubted that Jude ever went shopping for food, and so by extension, nor had she ever put groceries away. She had people to do that for her.

"Did Harry send you?" Ruth asked, recognising the deja vu moment. Ruth had asked Jude a similar question soon after they'd met in Cyprus two years earlier.

Jude stopped still just after she'd put the packet of teabags in the fridge. She turned to look at Ruth's face, hopeful, but anxious.

"No, he didn't," she said. "I'm here because …..."

"Of Malcolm, right?"

"Yes. Malcolm sent me."

"You two are a double act."

"It often seems that way."

"You should get together with him."

"He couldn't afford me," Jude quipped.

"Actually he could. He's quite wealthy."

"He doesn't look it."

"No, he doesn't. He's not the flashy kind. Does Harry even know I'm here?"

Ruth had been carrying the teapot to the tiny dining table in the corner of the room when Jude replied with, "Harry believes you to be dead."

Ruth dropped the teapot, and the hot tea splashed over the floor, and the blue china smashed into pieces. She watched it happening in slow motion, not sure how it even got there.


	5. Chapter 5

**_A/N: Thanks again to all the readers and reviewers of this fic. Some reviews have given me ideas I wish I'd had at the time of writing this._**

* * *

_Ruth's one-bedroom flat in Cheltenham. Tuesday 5.22pm:_

"Another tea, Jude? I'm out of leaf tea. I only have teabags, and I don't seem to be able to find them."

"Fridge. I put them in the fridge."

"Why?"

"To keep them cool. Don't you have to keep tea leaves cool?"

"No, you don't. Tea grows in the tropics."

"I guess I should have paid more attention in school."

Ruth removed the box of teabags from her fridge, and made them each another cup of tea, over which they sat in silence. After a while, once she decided that she had to ask her the question she came here to ask, Jude continued.

"Malcolm asked me to ask you whether you would be prepared to see Harry."

"Of course I want to see him. I didn't know why he'd not come to see me, but you've explained that, so yes …... I'd like to see him. I've missed him. I was sure he must have ….. gone off me."

"I'm not sure that it's even possible for him to go off you Ruth. A more loyal and loving man I've yet to see."

"Other than when he kicked me out of his house."

"He was protecting you, Ruth."

"I know, but he didn't even ask me if I wanted protecting. He can be such ….. so ….."

"Dictatorial? Tyrannical?"

"Harry can be such a bossy britches!"

Jude had to stifle her urge to laugh aloud, although she allowed herself to smile. "He certainly can. I'll leave it to Malcolm to contact Harry. If I talk to him, I'll no doubt say the wrong thing, and traumatise the poor man further."

"Harry's traumatised?"

"Apparently. How would you feel had you held him in your arms while he died?"

"I'd have …... yes, I know what you mean, now you put it like that."

Jude could see that Ruth needed time to take it all in. She'd told her everything, everything except the plan the government had to make sure the Olympics went off with a bang. She'd leave that for Harry to tell her.

"I have to drive back to London, Ruth. I hate to leave you with such a story, but there was no other way. Just to ensure Harry doesn't think Malcolm has lost his mind, would you mind if I took your photo? Perhaps I should take one of both if us together as well. Harry can be a suspicious bastard."

Ruth looked up at her with disapproval. "It's being a suspicious bastard that makes him such a good spy."

"But it's not the best quality to display in one's personal relationships."

"No," Ruth said quietly.

Ruth could see the sense in having her photo taken, so Jude drew out her phone, and took several shots of Ruth in her flat, and one of the two of them together. For the latter photo, they had to draw their heads together, while Jude held the phone out in front of them. The result was that they looked like a couple of friends having come home from a night out at the pub. Both were laughing at the camera.

Once she got back into her car, Jude drove a couple of blocks, and then parked beside the road. She then sent the photos to Malcolm's phone. What he did with them was now up to him. As far as she could see, her job was done. She'd been about to drive off when her phone rang. It was Malcolm.

"Jude, thank you for those photos. I've arranged for Harry to come over after he finishes work. He was wary, and wanted details, so I told him it was in the nation's interest for him to be here. Then he wanted to meet at a pub, and I told him that I had a fresh bottle of single malt at home, so he said yes without any further argument."

_Ruth's flat Cheltenham Tuesday 7.36pm:_

Ruth had made sure she'd stayed busy since Jude had left. She could understand Jude leaving when she did, but she'd needed her company for just a little longer. For once, Ruth is relieved that she lives so far from the nearest off license, otherwise she'd be there in a shot, stocking up on white wine and single malt whiskey – the former to get her through the evening ahead, and the latter to remind her of Harry. Perhaps were she to drink his favoured tipple - rolling it around inside her mouth, tasting it on her tongue – perhaps then her memories would return.

Since Jude had left, leaving her mind reeling, Ruth had sat down with a pen and a pad of A4 paper, and made a list of everything she remembered from after she'd accompanied Harry to the cold war bunker beside the Thames estuary. Some of her memories had returned – Sacha Gavrik trying to break the windows while his father strangled his mother; Dimitri and Erin were in there somewhere, as was Calum, but she only had momentary, sketchy memories of Harry inside the bunker. She decided that the most logical thing to do, the most likely to help her regain her lost memories, would be for her to write down what she remembered.

_Harry on the phone, standing near the water_

_Holding Harry's hand _

_Harry telling me to `go back in the bunker'._

_Sasha Gavrik looking angry and walking towards Harry and me_

_Harry grasping my arm and pushing me out the way_

_Sasha Gavrik's face, looking twisted and angry, crazy._

_Harry's face against my cheek_

_Something about a key._

And after that, Ruth drew a blank. The attack on her was still not part of her conscious memories.

_Home of Harry Pearce. 8.13pm:_

Harry had showered and changed into casual clothes, and was about to ring for a taxi, when he remembered he'd yet to feed Scarlet. His little dog was getting old and slow, but could still give him the guilts by staring up at him when she was hungry, or she wanted his attention.

"Come one, girl," he said. "Time for your dinner." Harry tipped dog biscuits in her bowl, and opened a can a chicken mince and tipped it into her glass bowl.

In the taxi on the way to Malcolm's house, his lack of something to occupy him had him again thinking about Ruth. He missed her, yes, but more than that, he felt guilty about having sent Ruth to live in the safe house a year earlier. At the time, his daughter had been furious with him. He'd tried explaining his reasoning to both Ruth and Catherine, but all it seemed he had succeeded in doing was setting both women against him. Now, with the vacuum created in the aftermath of Ruth's death, he could clearly see how wrong he'd been, and what was worse, he could never apologise to her, or show her that he now knew how wrong he'd been. If he was being honest with himself, he'd only fully understood how wrong he'd been as a result of his own experience of loss and grief. He knew that the loss of this extraordinary woman was far too high a price to pay for his own capitulation. Malcolm had been right. He was a fool.

_Home of Malcolm Wynn-Jones. 9.27pm:_

Malcolm watched Harry carefully, waiting for a reaction. He'd dived in at the deep end when he'd begun by telling Harry that Ruth was alive, to which Harry had looked stunned, as if unable to comprehend the words. Then he'd explained that Jude Trinder had visited Cheltenham that afternoon, and had sent him some photographs. Malcolm had sent the photos to his laptop, and they were on display there. He'd turned the laptop towards Harry, and suggested he scroll through them.

"Check the Properties of the photographs if you don't believe me. The date and time are embedded. The location coordinates as well."

"I believe you, Malcolm," Harry said, never taking his eyes from the screen of the laptop.

When Malcolm saw the tears in Harry's eyes, he decided it was time he went through to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. As he was waiting for the water to boil, he heard Harry's sobs. Malcolm waited until Harry was again silent before he reheated the water, and then poured it into the teapot. He gave the tea a few minutes to steep, and then he took the pot and two mugs into the office, and placed them on the small table between the two armchairs.

Malcolm only looked Harry's way once Harry spoke.

"Thank you, Malcolm. Thank you for caring. I'm assuming that you have been digging around in hospital records, or some such."

"I began there, yes, but really it all began the day of Ruth's funeral."

Malcolm searched Harry face, and for the first time in almost three months he saw hope – hope, and exhaustion, but chiefly hope. Harry's eyes were red from crying, and he supposed that this was not the first time he'd cried in the past three months. This time he'd cried to express joy, hope, and most of all, relief. Malcolm watched his friend as the tension began to leave his body.

"Can you print those out for me?" Harry asked huskily, indicating the images of Ruth on the desktop.

"I'll be glad to, Harry," and so Malcolm checked his printer was turned on, and printed the five photos of Ruth which Jude had taken only a few hours earlier. He handed them to Harry, who ran his finger over the contours of Ruth's image.

"What happened to her, Malcolm? I assume you know everything."

And so for the next hour or so, Malcolm talked, only stopping to allow Harry to ask questions. By the time the story was told, both men were exhausted, and so it was time for a proper drink. Malcolm brought the bottle into his study, and once he'd opened it, he threw the cap over his shoulder.

"That's ominous," Harry said, a smile on his face for the first time in three months.

"You're not going home until this bottle is empty."

"Then it's a good thing I came here by taxi," Harry replied, reaching out to accept the glass Malcolm offered.

_Later 11.32 pm:_

"I'm disappointed neither of us are drunk, Malcolm, and the bottle is still a third full."

"That's the downside of being past fifty, and seasoned drinkers."

Harry smiled, as he sipped the last of the whiskey in his glass, savouring every drop. "So how soon before I can visit Ruth? I'm assuming I'll be welcome should I visit her."

"Jude has indicated that Ruth will be overjoyed to see you."

"Even after I threw her out of my house?"

"Yes, even then. I hope you realise how trusting and forgiving Ruth is."

"I do. I don't deserve her."

"No, Harry, you don't. You can't take control of the relationship, you know. You have to give her leeway, and listen to her."

"Is that relationship advice, Malcolm? I thought you didn't do that."

"I don't, but Ruth is special."

"Yes. She is. How soon before I can see her?"

"She's working for the next three days, so perhaps after she finishes work Friday would be a good time. Jude managed to get a phone number for her. It's her new mobile number. I think Ruth gave it to Jude hoping she would pass it on to you. Wait a moment, I have it here," Malcolm said, leaning across to wake up his monitor, and then he tapped a few keys and wrote the number down on a post-it note. "Here," he said, handing the post-it note to Harry. "Treat it like you'd treat her."

"Thank you. I will."

_Harry's house. Wednesday 6.52am:_

Harry wasn't sure if it was too early to ring Ruth. In the year they'd lived together, she was usually out of bed by 6, but that was because she had to be. Given her job at the university is 9 to 5, it's quite possible that she has a lie-in. By the time he nervously dialled her mobile number, it was almost 7 o'clock, and he really needed to be at work himself.

_What if she hangs up on me?_

_What if she doesn't want to see me after all?_

_What is she sees me the source of all her problems?_

_What if -_

"Ruth? It's Harry."

There was a silence of perhaps only two seconds, during which he was close to being the one to hang up.

* * *

_**A/N: I'm sorry to be so mean by leaving it there. They meet in the next chapter - up in around 24 hours.**_


	6. Chapter 6

"Harry? It's so lovely to hear your voice."

"And I yours. I thought I'd never hear your voice again." No sooner had he said it than he felt his composure beginning to crumble, and he took a deep breath, but not before he'd let out a strangled sob.

There was silence on the line, as Ruth waited for him to again breathe normally. "Harry, I'm sorry you had to suffer in this way. It wasn't fair to you, and nor was it fair to us." She waited while she thought about what she should say next. "I'd really like to see you," she added quietly.

"I was afraid you wouldn't want to see me," Harry said quietly and calmly, having brought his emotions under control.

"Why would you think that?"

"I threw you out of my house, Ruth!"

"You didn't throw me out, you strongly suggested that it would be safer for me were I to live in a safe house."

"I wish I hadn't done that. I'm sorry, Ruth."

"I know you are. When are you coming to visit me?"

"If there wasn't so much going on at work, I'd be there as soon as I could drive there, but how about Friday evening?"

* * *

_Malcolm's House. Thursday 7.43pm:_

"I brought you both here to find out whether we have enough to act …... in relation to the government's plan for the opening of the Olympics. Calum?"

"I've done some digging in places I perhaps shouldn't dig, and the plan is for real. They haven't yet settled on a set plan, but can I say that some of the ideas being put forward are highly creative, but also quite daring. The most daring – and might I say, dangerous – of all is the one where they have faux terrorists making an attempt on the life of the Queen, and of course, our trusty MI5 operatives burst in to save the day. Fortunately, that isn't their favourite. You truly don't want to know about their favourite. Whatever they decide upon, there are members of the JIC whose task it is to make it happen. Towers has been as much over a barrel as Harry, so I think we need to look a lot higher up the ladder for those responsible. Harry has been put in the position where he has to go along with it, and provide the solution, for want of a better word, or he will lose his job. There is even a suggestion that were he to not go along with the plan, there will be another enquiry into his career."

"We can't have that happen," Malcolm replied. "Not now his life is beginning to look up again. Has he said anything to his operatives?"

"Nothing, although he seemed uncharacteristically cheerful today."

"He must have been in touch with Ruth. I gave him her new phone number, and so I imagine he rang her at his first opportunity."

"I imagine so, squi - Malcolm."

"Have you two had any bright ideas?" Malcolm asked, looking from Calum to Jude.

"We have," Jude replied. "Calum and I agree that why be subtle when it's possible to create a massive stink. I think you'll like our plan. There should be no loss of blood, or even life, but maximum loss of face. If things go according to plan, there is the potential for mass sackings and resignation."

Malcolm's eyes sparkled as he looked from Jude to Calum. "Good, good. Do tell."

* * *

_Trinder Services. Office of Jude Trinder. Friday 8.20am:_

"So how was your holiday?" Douglas Moore asked, curving his long frame into the chair opposite Jude's.

"It wasn't a holiday, Douglas. I was working."

"How much did they pay you?"

"My payment will be the satisfaction I receive from helping to save the British public from international embarrassment. Now, Douglas, do you have the contact details for that woman you were shagging who works at the BBC? You know the one I mean - she's on the production team for _Panorama._"

"Yes," Douglas snapped, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "What are you up to, Jude?"

"Something which will fundamentally affect national security. I need you to ring her, and arrange an appointment for me. _Now,_ if possible."

"Jesus, you sound just like my mother."

"Thank you." Jude's eyes never left Douglas, and his eyes wandered to the window to escape her scrutiny. Most days they barely spoke, other than by inter-office email. "I seem to remember you going all pathetic over that young woman who works at …... where was it now? _The Daily Mirror_?"

"You know it was the _The Daily Express,_ Jude."

"I need to meet with her, too."

Douglas rose to his feet. "Will that be all?"

"For now."

Jude Trinder watched her ex-husband slink from her office, his normally straight back stooping slightly. God, it felt so good to be taking charge.

By 10.30 am Jude had appointments with Vicky Collings from the BBC's _Panorama_ program, and Jasmin Malhotra from _The Daily Express_. Next, she dialled another number.

"Calum? Are you free? Not defusing bombs, or pulling out fingernails? Good. Can you manage to free yourself this afternoon? I need you to accompany me to a couple of interviews. Bring that memory stick that Malcolm gave you. Oh, and Calum? Don't tell a soul. It's just you, me and Malcolm at this stage. Whatever you do, don't tell Harry, and don't tell that bloody Erin woman, either. If she wants to know where you're going, just tell her you're going out to meet an asset, which is true in a way. Meet me at my office at 4 o'clock, and Calum …... be on time."

After she hung up from her call to Calum, Jude sat back and steepled her fingers in front of her face. She could see it all, now, the outcome of her planning. It was very, _very_ satisfying. Sometimes, being a pushy ex-MI5 operative could be an awful lot of fun.

* * *

_Ruth's flat, Cheltenham. Friday 8.41pm:_

Ruth opened her door as soon as she heard her doorbell. Harry appeared nervous, so she stood aside for him to enter the sitting room. As they'd planned, he'd brought dinner, and a bottle of wine. They stood some distance apart, their eyes moving over one another, and once he'd carefully scrutinised her, and decided she was real, he took in their surroundings.

"Nice flat," he said.

"No it's not. It's drab and depressing."

"You're right. You should be living somewhere better than this."

"It's all I can afford on my pay."

"Ruth, let me -"

"Don't you dare offer to help me out. The last time you tried to help me with my housing, I ended up on my own in a safe house. By comparison, this flat is a palace."

Ruth noticed Harry's face drop, and the energy leave his body, like a balloon deflating.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean -"

"How many times do I have to apologise for that, Ruth?"

"Here, I'll take that. I'm starving, and if we keep discussing the past in this way, we'll never get to eat it."

Harry sighed heavily before he followed her into her little dining room just off the kitchen, where she'd already laid out dinner plates and wine glasses. She'd even bought a brightly coloured blue and white checked table cloth at a second-hand store next to her local Tesco. Ruth busied herself serving out the Thai takeaway, while Harry stepped into the kitchen in search of a corkscrew for the wine. They ate in near silence, each stealing glances at the other. They had no precedent for sharing a meal after one of them had already died and the other had attended her funeral. There was no pamphlet, no manual for dealing with the situation in an appropriate way. They were having to make it up as they went along. They each had so much to say that they barely knew where to begin.

Once she'd finished her Penang curry, Ruth put down her fork, and rested her chin on her hands. "We have to talk, Harry," she said.

"I know. I just don't know where to begin. There's so much I want to say."

"What is it you want to say most?"

Harry pushed his plate away from him, and took a sip of his wine. He breathed in deeply, his words weighing heavily inside his chest.

"I just need to tell you that I love you, and that I've never stopped loving you, even when I decided it was best that we live apart. I regret how things turned out between us. I want to …... make up for my previous mistakes. I want to make things right." He took another sip of wine, and sat back in his chair, watching Ruth across the table from him. They had not touched since he'd arrived, and he longed to touch her, even if he could rest his hand on hers. All in good time. "Before anything else, I need to tell you that yesterday morning I submitted my resignation to Towers."

"Harry, you didn't. Why?"

"I've been asked to sanction something I simply can't go along with. It's time I left, and before you try to talk me out of this, it was part of what we agreed to do together just before you …. er, died."

"Harry," said Ruth, turning her glass nervously, "I can't remember what it was happened before I ….. whatever it was happened to me. I only have sketchy memories, like …... I can remember you telling me to get out of the way and go back inside the bunker. I can remember Ilya Gavrik killing Elena, and Sasha attempting to break the windows. I can remember you being on the phone outside, but the rest is sketchy."

"Do you want to know about it, Ruth, because every second of it is burned into my mind, and for three months it has played in a never-ending loop, while I've tried to figure out what I could have done to make it all turn out differently."

"Harry, please don't do that. I don't want you to do that any more. I don't want you to feel guilty about what it was happened to me. Can you tell me about it? What happened?"

So he told her everything that happened that day, some of which Ruth remembered, but most of which had been lost due to the drug she'd been given. The details about the drug which had been accidentally administered to Ruth had been told to Harry by Malcolm. He stopped often to answer Ruth's questions, and when he talked of the pledge they'd made to one another to leave the service together, tears which Harry had been holding in check began to run down his cheeks as he spoke.

"We can take our wine into the sitting room," Ruth said, as Harry wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. "It's more comfortable in there."

So they sat side-by-side on the dark green sofa, and Ruth sat close enough to hold Harry's hand in her own, while he finished telling her everything he knew about that day. Once his story was told, she told him about her time in hospital, and then in the private hospital.

"Towers never spoke to me about ringing you, or visiting you, Ruth," Harry said, looking down at her face, which was lifted towards his own. "He was at your funeral, and he expressed his condolences. He played a double game. Yesterday when I resigned, I told him that if he didn't accept my resignation I'd make public some things I know about him which he'd rather I didn't make public."

"Such as?"

"I can tell you about that tomorrow. It's been a long night." He smiled down at her, his eyes clear.

"Tomorrow? You're staying?"

"I have an overnight bag in my car. I didn't bring it up because I had to check with you first."

"Of course you're welcome to stay, but there's only one bed in this flat, Harry."

"Do you want me to sleep out here?" he asked, examining the sofa for the first time.

"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous. I want you with me."

_Ruth's flat. Friday 11.12pm:_

Ruth was already settled under the duvet when Harry brought his overnight bag into the bedroom, and closed the door behind him.

"We don't have to do anything tonight if you don't want to," she said, seeing how nervous he seemed. It just wasn't like Harry to be this nervous. He was usually so self-assured, especially in the bedroom. He was very, very good in the bedroom, and she'd missed that.

He smiled across at her as he removed his jeans, leaving on his trunks. Once he'd pulled on a t-shirt, he slipped under the duvet beside her, making sure he didn't touch her.

"Can I kiss you, Ruth? We haven't kissed since …..."

"Since the CIA took you. We haven't made love since before Lucas kidnapped me."

"It was the night before," he said. "I remember it like it was yesterday."

"So do I. It was …... lovely."

"Yes, it was. But it always was. With us"

Harry leaned across towards her, and put his lips against hers in the lightest of touches. It was barely a kiss, more an acknowledgement of the memories they shared. Ruth put her arms up and slipped them around his neck, so that her fingers played with the hair at the back of his neck. She pulled him closer, and this time she was the one who initiated the kiss. What started as a light, loving exploration of a familiar mouth soon became deeper, hungrier, and more needy.

It was when Ruth pushed her hands under Harry's t-shirt that he pulled away from her, his breathing shallow, while his eyes showed a mixture of pain and fear.

"I can't do this tonight, Ruth. It was only four nights ago that I last cried myself to sleep from missing you so much. I just want to hold you tonight, to get used to being with you again. Can we do that?"

Ruth nodded, and rolled back on to her own side. They lay side-by-side, not touching, until Harry turned towards her and put his arms around her, drawing her head against his chest.

"I love you," he said, pressing his lips to her forehead.

"I love you, too," she replied. "Always have, always will."


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N:**** Here `tis ... the much awaited Chap 7. Thanks for following, reading and reviewing.**_

* * *

_Thames embankment. Saturday. 1.15pm:_

Malcolm watched through squinted eyes as Jude approached the bench. This time she was dressed casually in faded jeans, a fair isle knit jumper in autumn colours, topped by a dark grey anorak with bright red lining, resplendent with studs and zips, and on her feet she wore lace-up boots. This was Jude slumming it. Were she ever to occupy herself with gardening or DIY (neither concept being familiar to her), then these are the clothes she would wear. She walked briskly, probably because her legs were rather short. He smiled as she drew level with the bench.

"You look pleased with yourself," Malcolm observed.

"Just you wait. The shit's gunna hit the fan in such a way that it'll stick to everyone who conspired to have this happen."

"Am I to know what you've done?"

"You know," she said, sitting down beside him and turning to look at him with a direct gaze, "some things are best kept secret. Let's say, Calum and I have handed on the information to those whose job it is to spread the word, and generally create mayhem the likes of which hasn't been seen since Oliver Cromwell."

"Ah …... the superlative gets an airing." Malcolm stared at her for a few moments, the slightest of smiles at the edges of his mouth. "I need to know that Calum's identity is being kept secret, otherwise things could get very messy."

"I had my main tech guy make him a press pass in the name of Grant O'Hare. Calum played the part to perfection. I had to keep an eye on him, because I sensed he was about to hit on the journalist from _The Daily Express_."

"Ah …... so the press are being co-operative."

"More than co-operative. I was also assured that several online bloggers would be interested in the story. And if _Panorama_ do the story they said they will, government in the UK will never be the same again." Jude crossed her legs, and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket. "It's bloody cold out here, Malcolm."

"Yes, it is," he replied. "When is the story due to break?"

"I suggested no earlier than Monday week. It will take them at least that long to organise the evidence on the memory stick you gave me. Harry Pearce has resigned, and Friday of this week will be his last day. It's important that he not be seen to be complicit in any way."

"I agree, and I'm glad he's resigned. He and Ruth deserve a life together. I'll have to ring him in the next day or so, and advise him to stay out of London once he's finished with MI5."

* * *

_Ruth's flat in Cheltenham. Saturday 2.04pm._

Harry had taken Ruth shopping, for clothes as well as groceries, and he'd insisted she pay for the lot using his credit card. Ruth had complained loudly about feeling like a kept woman, but Harry had ignored her protests. They'd eaten lunch at a small café not far from where Ruth lived, and then Ruth had showed Harry where she worked.

"It's closed today, but you can see through the window. That's my desk at the back, behind the large potted palm."

He leaned close to her as they peered through the office window. To his mind, Ruth deserved to be anywhere other than behind a potted palm. When she didn't move away from him, he put his arm lightly around her waist, and pulled her closer, breathing in her smell. He was ready now to love her properly, to take up where they'd left off before Lucas had kidnapped her. He wanted to hold her close to him and make love to her. He suddenly pulled away from her, not sure of whether he should say anything to her.

Ruth had noticed the change in Harry, and turned to look at him.

"Is anything wrong?" she asked. "You look …... strange." Strange is right. She saw the raw look on Harry's face, and she recognised it from when they'd been together. She'd also seen it in his eyes a couple of times in the weeks leading up to her stabbing.

"Can we go back to your flat now?" he asked quietly. He didn't explain himself. He didn't have to.

Back at Ruth's flat Harry carried the shopping bags inside, while Ruth packed everything away. She left her bags of new clothes on the sofa in the sitting room. There was plenty of time for her to go through them. Harry needed her, and she needed him.

"Ruth," Harry said, not turning to face her. "I can't stay here with you tonight. I need to go back to London this evening. There are some things I need to attend to at work, and I'll need to work all day tomorrow. It will no doubt take me a few days to leave everything ready for Erin to take over."

"Is Erin to be the new section head?"

"For now. After that, who knows? Things are a bit …... tense in Whitehall at present. Nobody knows what will happen."

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Ruth had joined Harry in the kitchen, and was standing just behind his shoulder. He said nothing for a minute or two, and Ruth thought he may not have heard her. She was about to repeat her question when he turned to face her. His face showed what was on his mind.

"I want …... I _need_ …... you."

Ruth took another step closer to him, close enough for her to reach out and touch his face. She cupped his jaw in her hand, sliding her fingers across the stubble on his face. One of her more endearing memories from when they'd lived together had been those mornings – usually of a weekend - when he'd skipped shaving. She'd rub her cheek against his chin, and then run her fingertips along his stubbly skin, after which they'd enjoy, at the very least, a good old-fashioned snogging session, which had often developed into something much more. Harry was such a good kisser. He would kiss her lightly, so that their lips barely touched, but her body would burn with desire for more. He could also kiss her as if he had just crossed the desert, and his life could only be saved by devouring her and making them one. Ruth had missed Harry's kisses during the time they'd lived apart – safe maybe, but unfulfilled in so many other ways.

Harry watched her face as she allowed her memories of their time living together to surface.

"We were good together, weren't we, Ruth?"

"So _very_ good."

"We still can be," he whispered.

He put his hands on her hips, and drew her against him. He was already partly aroused, and she sighed as their bodies slotted together, so, so familiar. Harry leaned in and kissed her, and everything which followed was down to muscle memory. Her mouth parted beneath his, their tongues met and tangled, he wrapped his hands around her until he supported her back and shoulders, her hands slid behind his head, and then slipped under his collar to touch the skin of his shoulders, his warm, warm skin. They pulled apart to look at one another.

"Bedroom?" he asked, and she grasped his hand, and led him through the door into her bedroom, where they'd spent just one chaste night together.

They stood beside the bed, facing one another, while they removed their clothing. He lifted his own shirt over his head, and then helped her undo the buttons of her blouse, lifting it off her when he became impatient with how long it was taking. He stood silently while she unbuckled his belt, opened the button on his jeans, and then slid down his zip. She pushed his jeans over his hips, so that he could step out of them, and then, having removed all her clothing other than her bra and knickers, she stepped against him again, enjoying the feeling of his body against her own. She pushed her hips against him, and her breasts against his chest, and she sighed heavily. How had they ever spent ten months apart …... ten months without _this_?

They fell on the bed, each in their underwear – three articles of clothing between the two of them – and then they kissed deeply, the way they'd always kissed just before they made love. There was no longer anything between them, only a few layers of material, and memories of misunderstandings and lost opportunities. Harry's fingers traced the red scar on her abdomen, and she sighed, because it felt right for him to be doing that.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"Not when you touch it," she replied, and he leaned down to run gentle kisses along its jagged length.

Ruth could no longer hold back. She slipped her hand under the waistband of his trunks, and touched him gently with her fingers. He murmured something from the back of his throat as she caressed him with the tips of her fingers. She'd missed him so much. She's missed his energy and his passionate nature, and his ability to make her body vibrate with just the sound of his voice. She'd missed waking up next to him each morning to the sight of his hazel eyes lazily watching her as she drew herself from sleep. She'd missed this – his hardness, and how skilfully he used it. Yes, as shallow as that may sound, she'd missed his penis. It was part of who he was, just as her folds which opened into her vagina were an integral part of her own being. Their love-making had been so important to them, and she'd missed it.

Harry was being especially gentle, and he was taking his time, but Ruth was no longer prepared to wait.

"Now, Harry," she said, massaging his erection with her whole hand, while she continued to kiss him, her tongue exploring the inside of his mouth.

He moaned into her mouth, but her words had called him to action. He gently removed her hand from his penis, with the quiet words, "You know what that does to me."

Of course she knew. That was the very reason she was doing it.

Next he removed his trunks, then with one hand, he reached behind her and unclasped her bra while he teased each of her nipples with his tongue. As Ruth rolled under him, and he took position over her, she shuffled out of her knickers, and threw them over her head. Much later she would find them, draped over the light-fitting which hung from the centre of the ceiling.

He lowered himself so that his erection slid across her folds, across her opening, but not inside her. He repeated that until she lifted her hips and caught the tip of his penis in her opening. _That'll teach you to tease me like that_, she thought. As he gave in, and slid into her, she looked into his eyes, and saw his joy in their being together again. She grasped his sides, and smiled back at him, as they slowly adjusted their bodies to fit as they'd remembered. It felt so good to be together like that. Ruth had almost forgotten the feel of him inside her, how snugly they fit together, how arousing his eyes were as they searched her face, and how quickly she responded to him.

They didn't hold back this time. This was their first time in over a year, and it was exciting and new, like it had been back when they'd made love for the first time, after she'd returned from Cyprus for the second time, when she'd climbed into his bed late one night. That time, it had been her guilt over George's death which had held them apart, while prior to reuniting this time, it had been Harry who had carried the responsibility for them living apart for a year, and for her being stabbed by Sasha Gavrik. Love didn't dissolve the guilt and the pain they'd each endured, but it was a soothing balm for their souls all the same. Making love was not a cure-all, but it would help to hasten the healing.

Harry felt the familiar surging from deep within his loins. Ruth seemed to be lost within their love-making, so to ensure he didn't leave her behind, he reached between them, and vibrated her clitoris with his thumb. Her response was almost instantaneous, as he knew it would be. He felt her body arching beneath him, as her internal muscles began to pulse, and what followed was a combined crashing of climaxes, as his orgasm closely followed her own.

They each called out as they came, and then Ruth collapsed against her pillow, and Harry fell on to his elbows, before he rolled over on to the bed, taking her with him. He lifted the duvet to cover them, and they dozed for a while, wrapped in the arms of the other.

Later, when it was time for him to leave, it was clear that neither wanted to be parted again so soon after having been reunited. They stood just inside the front door, holding one another, putting off the moment when he would walk through the door to his car. Ruth was dressed only in her bathrobe, so she couldn't comfortably go outside to see him off, not unless she got dressed.

"It's going to be a busy week for me," he spoke quietly into her ear, "but I plan to come back next Saturday to spend some time with you. Perhaps we can go somewhere for a few days …... somewhere which isn't London or Cheltenham."

Ruth pulled her face away from his shoulder and looked at him and nodded. "That's seven days away," she said.

"Yes it is, but it's better than the three months during which I believed you to be dead, and you believed that I must have gone off you."

"You're right," she replied, smiling weakly.

"I'll ring you every day, and please ring me if you need anything, even if it's just to hear my voice."

They kissed again, a long and deep kiss, and then Harry opened the door, turned once more to kiss her, and then he was gone.

Ruth moved to the window and watched Harry open the back door of the Range Rover, and throw his bag on the seat. As he opened the driver's side door, he looked up towards her window, and blew a kiss. She blew a kiss back, even though she was sure he'd not be able to see her through the net curtains. As he drove away, she tasted the salt of tears on her lips.


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N:**__**More M-rated stuff.**_

* * *

_Thames embankment. Thursday 2.05pm:_

"How is Ruth?" Malcolm asked, looking along the bench to where Harry sat, staring across the river at the Houses of Parliament.

"She's good, all things considered. She's been lonely, though."

"Did you know that her salary at the university is being paid by the Home Office?"

"_What_?"

"Yes, they orchestrated the whole thing, and they even pay part of the rent on her flat."

"And you know this how …...?"

Malcolm turned his head to look at Harry and tapped the side of his nose with his finger.

"Digital trickery then."

"I call it hacking, but you can call it whatever you like," Malcolm smiled as he lifted one eyebrow.

They both stared across the water, such was the rhythm of their conversations. They each understood how it worked between them.

"You can get her out of Cheltenham without it inconveniencing Ruth's employer. Were she my lady, I'd be up there the minute my employment with MI5 finished, and I'd be bringing her home. But that's just me."

"Thank you, Malcolm. I'd planned doing something like that, depending on what Ruth wants."

"Her choice will be between staying in Cheltenham on her own to spend three days a week doing a job for which she's vastly over-qualified, or leaving with you, and spending every day with the man she loves."

"Put like that, Malcolm, it's …..."

"It's a no-brainer, Harry."

"It is. Have you checked Ruth's identity?"

"Yes. Ruth Evershed is officially dead, and your Ruth is now Ruth Pearce."

"She chose Pearce as her surname?"

"Yes." Malcolm smiled to himself. "It should save a lot of trouble should you wish to …... you know."

"Get married?"

"Yes."

"We haven't found the time to discuss our plans that far into the future, but yes …... her chosen name is …... fortuitous. On the other hand …..."

"If you ever broke up, it could be …... difficult."

"We won't break up again, Malcolm. There are just so many times in one lifetime that a man can be a fool."

After a few more minutes of silence, Harry again spoke. "Calum's been meeting with you, hasn't he?"

Further silence.

"Yes, he has, but I'm looking after him, Harry. He's never been in any danger. His contribution has been significant."

"I hope so. I don't want him to be on anyone's hit list."

"He won't be. He's a canny lad, is Calum. It will take a heavy blow to bring him down."

Further silence.

"You've been seeing Jude Trinder. Ruth mentioned it."

"Professionally, yes."

"She's single, you're single. Why not ….. you know?"

"Being in love has clouded your thinking, Harry."

Harry laughed freely and loudly, so that some passers-by turned to look. "It certainly has. Love is a wonderful drug, Malcolm. You should try some."

Further silence.

"Ruth and I have been talking about buying a house on the south coast. She was planning to buy a house in Suffolk before she was stabbed. I feel that I owe her a house. She deserves that."

"That sounds lovely."

"And when we find one, we'll invite you to stay for a few days …... and if by then you have a lady friend, then she'll be invited too."

"Love has made you overly optimistic, Harry."

Further silence.

"The shit's about to hit the fan, isn't it, Malcolm?"

"It is. Nothing will ever be the same again." Malcolm looked across at Harry, a small smile on his lips. "And to think it all began when they took Ruth from you."

"She won't be implicated, will she?"

"No, Harry, she won't. Only those in positions of power are being targeted."

"That's good." Harry moved to get up. "It's time I got back. Don't forget about visiting Ruth and me when we're living on the south coast, and …... perhaps you can work on finding yourself someone. I can highly recommend it."

Malcolm watched his friend as he walked back along the embankment, his walk steady and purposeful. Harry was happy, and so what was about to happen was worth it.

* * *

_East Sussex coast. Wednesday 3.42 pm, 6 days later:_

Harry had removed his coat, and held it over Ruth's head as together they ran to the Range Rover, parked across the road from the cottage. He helped her inside the cabin, and then jogged around to his side, and got in. When they'd settled, and closed the doors behind them, they noticed that Ruth was dry, and Harry was quite wet. What had begun as a sunny day on the south coast had quite literally turned into a pisser. They possessed one umbrella between them, Ruth having left hers under her desk in the office at Cheltenham, where it would likely stay, and Harry's was no doubt back at his house in London. Neither had listened to the weather forecast for Hastings and surrounding areas, and given that the sun had been shining when they'd left their B&B to go house-hunting, neither had considered that the absence of an umbrella would have caused them such inconvenience.

"We'll have to get back so that you can get changed," she commented.

"All in good time, sweetheart. What do you think of the house?"

"It's the one, Harry. It's sitting there waiting for us to buy it."

"You too, huh?"

"Do you _really_ love it, Harry, or are you simply trying to appease me?"

"Both. I love it, and I'm attempting to give you something I know you want."

Harry started the car, and they drove away, windscreen wipers flying across the windscreen, heater on full blast.

"We should keep looking, though, just in case."

"If that's what you want, Ruth."

"Harry, if you don't want to look any further, we don't have to look."

"I think we should sleep on it. If this rain keeps up, inspecting houses might become difficult. If we have to stay in our room for a few days, I'm sure we'll find something to keep us occupied."

Ruth turned to look at him, but he was concentrating on the road, wet and slick.

* * *

_White Cottage Bed & Breakfast, Fairlight, East Sussex. Wednesday 4.45 pm:_

By the time Harry entered the bedroom from the bathroom, Ruth had changed into track pants and a bulky jumper, and she was curled up on the duvet surrounded by pamphlets and floor plans of the houses they had visited since they'd arrived in East Sussex on Monday morning. What few possessions she had had been move to Harry's London house. She and Harry were now – officially – living together. They had yet to discuss fully the ten months or so they'd lived apart. The subject was still one which would require a delicate touch.

He stood at the foot of the bed, one towel wrapped around his waist, while he rubbed his hair dry with another. When he was satisfied that his hair was dry, he threw the towel over a chair, and watched Ruth, waiting for her to notice him.

"What?" she asked, busily perusing the floor plan of the last house they'd visited, the one she could most see them living in.

Harry kneeled on the end of the bed, and crawled towards her. As he did, his knee caught on the end of the towel, which unravelled from his waist. She still had not looked up. By the time he reached her side, the towel was left at the end of the bed, and he was naked.

"I take it you're after something, Harry," she said, looking up at him at last, her eyes travelling over his body, a small smile around her mouth.

Harry interpreted her smile as an invitation, and he leaned across and kissed her, sliding his body across the bed until he was lying against her. "You're overdressed for what I have in mind, Ruth."

She grabbed her paperwork, and placed it in a pile on the bedside table, and then she turned towards Harry. She knew he was trying to make up for all the time they'd lost – their time apart, as well as the times their attempts to get closer had badly misfired. She turned to him and slid her arms around him, meeting his lips with her own. For a man who had lived through fifty-eight revolutions of the earth around the sun, Harry's appetites were healthy, to say the least. It was as though he could not get enough of her. His energy had noticeably lifted since he'd left MI5, and yet his last day at work had only been five days previously.

While she kissed him, he busied his hands lifting her jumper over her head, and pulling off her track pants. Then there was her underwear. He lifted the duvet, and together they slid underneath the thick coverlet. They nestled against one another, watching the rain stream down the window. Harry lay behind her, the front of his body against her back. This was sometimes how they slept, especially after they'd made love. His arms enveloped her, and her back was protected by his chest and shoulders. Ruth felt safe for the first time since before Lucas North had taken her from the surveillance van over a year ago.

They lay that way for some time, his arms around her waist, her fingers laced through his. The rain had become heavier in the past hour, and being wrapped in her lover's arms while watching the rain lash the bedroom window had always been one of Ruth's favourite fantasies involving she and Harry, even long before their intimate life had begun. It's just that the reality far outstripped even her most daring fantasies. While they'd lived apart, she had forgotten how warm his body could be, even on the coldest of days, and she had almost forgotten the feel of his skin against her own, and how very _right_ it seemed for them to lay that way, with the rain falling outside.

She began to suspect he'd fallen asleep, when his hands moved from beneath hers, and his fingers began exploring her abdomen. His fingertips ran feather-like over her skin, and she gave an involuntary shiver. One hand glided up to her breast, touching her nipple with the lightest of touches before it moved back towards her navel, while his other hand travelled downwards, seeking what lay hidden between her legs, to which she responded by pushing one leg back over his thigh, opening herself to him.

He then dipped one hand towards her warm folds, and sought entrance for his fingers, while his other hand again caressed her breast, two fingers ensuring her nipple hardened under his touch. She felt his penis hardening against her buttocks, and he ever-so-slightly pushed himself against her. Ruth pushed her buttocks back against him, and smiled when he pushed back. She reached behind her and ran her fingertips along his outer thigh, and pressed herself against his chest, as her breathing became rapid and shallow.

They were good at this game of love. This was one they had played often while they'd lived together – the first time, after she'd returned from Cyprus. She'd be in bed, intending to wait up for him. When he'd returned home late, she'd be almost asleep, and he'd crawl into bed behind her, wrapping himself around her back, his arms around her waist, his face tucked into her neck. Had she been asleep, his warm, naked body would instantly wake her, and they'd lie together until one of them made the first move. This part of the game involved seeing who could hold out the longest before either touching the other in a provocative way, or else falling asleep. They used to laugh together when it was almost always his penis which moved first.

"It has a mind of its own, Ruth," he'd say as a way of abdicating responsibility. "It's not my fault."

"No, it knows what _you_ want," she'd reply. "You lose again, Harry. You made the first move."

"But I still win," he'd say, his face against her neck.

It was what they did together, when they were together in bed, and the world was somewhere outside their bedroom window.

Harry was so good at this, the chase, the seduction, and then the loving. How could she have forgotten? How could his memories of this not been as vivid as her own? How could he have left her at that grim safe house had he remembered how good this was? Could he so easily compartmentalise his emotions, his memories, that their times making love in this way were lost to him? She wanted to ask him, but he felt so good, his fingers busy, and firm, and gentle, while he kissed and nuzzled her neck, she had no wish to break the spell. She reached behind her and grasped his penis gently in her hand, sliding the full length of him and back, just because she could.

"Careful," he said, "I might need it for something important."

Ruth smiled to herself, and adjusted her body so that Harry could enter her from behind. He slid in easily, and then began to thrust slowly. She was already very aroused, and feeling him fill her so completely, she knew she'd not last long. Her life was suddenly so full – with love, with promises of a future together, and with her lover's body. She pushed her buttocks against him, and turned her head to receive his kisses. They moved together, each reacquainting themselves with this position, once so familiar. Harry's hands were on her hips, as he thrust into her again and again from behind. Ruth's neck was arched so that he could love her neck, her ear, her cheek with his lips.

She felt the signs in him that he was about to come – the shallow breaths, the twitching inside her, the increase in speed of his thrusts, and so she grabbed his hand and pushed it downwards. He read her actions loud and clear, so that his fingers vibrated across her clitoris just before he spilled himself inside her, and she followed him into the oblivion they each sought.

_Same day. 6.01 pm:_

Harry had fallen asleep after they'd made love, and he was still asleep, when Ruth noticed something odd on the TV screen. She had turned it on while Harry was in the shower, but muted it once she'd begun browsing house floor plans. While they were busily wrapped up in one another, neither had noticed the regular news flashes.

"Bloody hell!" Ruth said, turning towards Harry and shaking his shoulder. "Harry …... wake up ….. you'll want to see this."

He woke suddenly, his years as a spy still embedded in his body's make-up, and sat up. "What is it, Ruth?"

"Look at that. The TV. It's the news. Where'd I leave that remote?"

They both shuffled around under the duvet, looking for the TV remote control.

"Here it is," Harry said at last, producing the required item from under his pillow. He pointed it at the TV and turned on the sound.

"_And we cross to Number 10 where the Prime Minister is with our reporter."_

There were banners running across the screen, and Harry, still dozy from sleep and their love-making, squinted at the screen, having difficulty in reading and comprehending them all, but Ruth had grasped the whole story.

"Both the Prime Minister and the Home Secretary have resigned, and four member of the Joint Intelligence Committee – including the DG - and three other members of Cabinet," she said, laying her hand on Harry's arm. "The Conservatives planned a fake -"

"...terrorist attack at the Olympics."

"You knew?"

"I was meant to be part of it, Ruth. It was one of the reasons I resigned when I did. You, of course, were the other reason."

Ruth turned towards him then, and climbed back under the duvet to put her arms around him. "I love you even more now than I did an hour ago, when we were making love."

"I had no choice," he said. "They kept you from me."

"_What_?"

And that was the perfect time for Harry to tell Ruth how her death had been faked in order to keep him working at Section D, to convince him he had no choice other than to sanction the actions which he knew would result in, if not deaths of innocents, then red faces aplenty. They ordered pizza for dinner, and talked long into the night. By the time they lay under the duvet, their arms wrapped around one another, they felt lighter, happier, and the world around them made a little more sense.

* * *

_The Brecknock. London. Wednesday 7.52 pm:_

Malcolm and Jude sat at the bar, each with a drink in front of them. Their attention was on the television screen above the bar, where the drama was playing out as they sat quietly watching.

"It's a miracle, Malcolm."

"Do you mean you didn't think it would work?"

"Let's say I was never sure. It always looked good on paper, but I hadn't expected …... this."

On the screen, the Prime Minister was being interviewed, and the banner running along the bottom of the screen told of his resignation, and that of the Home Secretary and several members of cabinet.

"They haven't got them all," Malcolm mused, "but what they have is enough. For now."

"I thought that victory would be sweeter that this. It feels somewhat anticlimactic."

"Would you like dinner?"

"What?"

"Dinner. Would you like to have dinner with me?"

"When?"

"Now. Tonight."

"Malcolm, is this a date?"

"Yes, actually, it is. What do you say?"

He waited while Jude ran her finger around the rim of her glass, her eyes on the wine inside the glass. She then stilled her finger, and looked at him, her eyes bright.

"Yes, I think I might like that. Dinner with you would be …... er, interesting."

"Good," Malcolm said, stunned that she had acquiesced. "Grab your coat, and let's go somewhere we can hear ourselves think."

* * *

_Lemongrass Restaurant, Camden. Wednesday 10.41 pm:_

"I hadn't had you down as a connoisseur of Asian cuisine, Malcolm."

"I took a holiday in Cambodia and Vietnam soon after I began working for MI5. Most other people venture no further than Europe. I like to try new things."

"Yes, I can see that."

"What do you mean?" he asked, glancing across the table at Jude, waiting for the inevitable barb.

"You surprise me, Malcolm. You're nothing like I'd expected."

"I imagine that I'm not like the men you usually mix with."

"That's true. Most men I spend my time with are shallow, self-absorbed, but quite lovely to look at. You're none of those things."

"Thank you. I think." Malcolm smiled at her as he sipped his coffee.

"That was a compliment, Malcolm. You're not the most handsome man I know, but you have wonderful manners, you pay attention to me, and your conversation is …... unique. You intrigue me."

"But we worked together for several years. I always thought you saw me as being …... rather dull."

"I was still married to Douglas in those days. He's good-looking, shallow, and self-absorbed, and sadly, I thought that was how a man had to be."

Jude hesitated, watching her own forefinger form ever-increasing infinity signs on the tablecloth while she thought about her next statement.

"It's taken me longer than most to grow up," she admitted at last.

Malcolm looked up and smiled a wide smile. "Would you like to do this again some time?"

* * *

_East Sussex coast. One month later. Wednesday 1.45 pm:_

"Are you sure, Ruth? You were so certain about that other cottage, the one we saw the day it rained."

"This one is much better, don't you think? Bigger kitchen and bathroom, _and_ it has an en suite for us. It has two good sized bedrooms and a study. It's closer to the sea."

Harry smiled down at her. He loved her fire and her enthusiasm, and as irritating as it could be, he also loved her attention to detail, even when he viewed such details as being peripheral. Besides, he knew that this house meant more to Ruth than it meant to him. They were sitting in the Range Rover, the cottage to their left, and a glimpse of sea to their right. Harry noticed Ruth's mood change, something which happened often, but which still had the power to unnerve him.

"What?" he asked.

She turned towards him, and noticed the fear in his eyes. "I know that you feel that you owe me a home, Harry, but this house, as lovely as it is, won't give us back that time we lived apart."

He should have known she'd read more into this. That decision he'd made a year earlier, perhaps the worst decision of his life, seemed as if it would always haunt him …... them. It was clear that it still haunted Ruth. He turned in his seat to face her, his arm resting on the steering wheel.

"If I could turn back the clock, I'd probably choose to resign instead of putting you in a safe house. I acknowledge that it was an awful decision, a decision I made out of sheer terror I might lose you, but you can't unring a bell."

"I know, Harry, I understand that now. I'm not blaming you. Strange as it seems, I even think I now understand why you did it. I'm no longer mad at you. I spent months feeling angry with you, frustrated that you couldn't see my point of view, but it didn't help. I'm trying to draw a line under that time in our lives. In some ways it was worse than when I was in exile. I felt exiled all over again. Exiled from you." She breathed in and out, determined to not be angry about this any more. It was in the past, and the past could not hurt her. Could it? "It's just that," she ventured, "when you put me in that safe house, I felt like you'd sacrificed _us_, and any chance for us to be together went into that awful house with me. I failed to see how you could possibly love me and do that. I still don't," she finished quietly.

There was a long silence, during which Ruth waited, and Harry fought a similar terror to that which had led him to sending Ruth to the safe house. He was aware that their entire future hung on the next few sentences he spoke. He sat back in his seat, and stared unseeing through the windscreen.

"Ruth …... I've thought a lot about what I did, and I know that an apology is not enough. I can only say that …... at that time, after Lucas took you …... that my fear for your safety outweighed the love I had for you. Selfishly, I wanted to keep you away from danger. I know now that the safest place for you would have been with me, and that someone like Lucas, who wanted to hurt me, would have found you no matter where you were. When I thought you'd died, my greatest regret, aside from how long we spent getting together, was that I'd sacrificed ten months of our lives by sending you to that house. So, yes, I still feel bad enough for both of us, and yes, this house is a kind of peace offering, but it's much more than that." Harry took a deep breath, hoping that he had said enough to settle her doubts. "This house represents our future, Ruth. Yours and mine …... together. It's a long way from London, and the dangers we've faced. It's _our_ safe house. For us, for as long as we want it."

He waited. She waited. He breathed in deeply, and then breathed out.

"You questioned my love for you, and that by putting you in that house, how was it possible that I loved you. I've asked myself the same thing. Perhaps at that time, my love for you was fearful and immature. I like to think I've moved on from there. I hope we're now more …... equal than we were back then. I'm no longer your boss, Ruth. I have no right to tell you what to do. Back then I was a man in love with his employee, his brilliant employee. Now, I'm a man in love with a beautiful, brilliant, extraordinary woman. I hope that will be enough."

He turned to face her then, and to his immense relief, she smiled at him, and then reached across and kissed his lips lightly, holding his face between her hands. She looked into his eyes with open adoration, and reached in to kiss him again. "Thank you, my love," she said, "now let's go sign some paperwork."

"Is that all?" he blurted out. "After a year of pain and separation, you're happy with that?"

"No, of course not, Harry, but that's enough hand-wringing for now. I'm prepared to be happy with that …... for now." Ruth leaned back and smiled across at him. "You know, there may just come a day when we say, `Safe house? What safe house?"

"Thank you, Ruth," he said, before he started the car. There was paper-signing to be done.

* * *

**_A/N: Last chapter up next._**


	9. Chapter 9

_Harry's and Ruth's house, East Sussex coast. 5 months later - Friday August 17th 2012 - 7.19 pm:_

Ruth was checking that the guest bedroom was ready while Harry made salads …... or more correctly, Harry chopped up all the salady-type vegetables he could find in the refrigerator. It would be up to Ruth to create salads from the raw materials.

Harry's daughter and her boyfriend had spent the weekend with them a fortnight earlier, and so Catherine and Mark had been the guinea pigs for Ruth and Harry to entertain in preparation for this weekend.

"You're certain they'll be sharing a bed, aren't you?" Ruth asked her partner as she joined him in the kitchen, nervously looking around for something to keep her hands occupied. "It could be embarrassing for us all if they're just friends, or business partners."

"I'm assuming they are at the sleeping-together stage, Ruth, although I haven't asked the question directly, on account of it being one of those questions a man of my vintage does not comfortably ask a man of similar age. However, back at around the time the Olympics story broke, I _may_ have suggested he get himself a woman so that he could visit us."

"I hope you didn't say it like that. He might have misunderstood you, Harry, believing that having a woman in his life is a necessary criteria for him visiting us. What if he has chosen the first woman who has said yes to him?"

"Darling, all men at some time in their lives choose the first woman who says yes. It all depends upon the question."

"But I didn't say yes to you for years."

"I know, and that is why I chased you for all those years, hoping that you'd one day say yes."

Harry placed the sharp knife on the bench, and reached out for Ruth, pulling her against him, and then kissing her slowly and with meaning. She responded by sliding her arms around his neck and running her fingers through the curls which sat just above his collar. "You say all the right things," she said when she pulled away to look him in the eyes. "I was always going to say yes. I just didn't know when ….. this year, next year, next decade ….."

What followed was a major snog in the kitchen, hands moving over backs and buttocks, and murmurs of appreciation providing the soundtrack to their kisses. They pulled away, and gently placed their foreheads together.

"If you're unsure about it, Ruth, then maybe you can make up the sofa bed in my office …. just in case."

"I have …. just in case. I just don't want to embarrass them."

"I think that we will be more embarrassed than they, no matter what their chosen sleeping arrangements turn out to be. I don't know about you, Ruth, but the very mention of the possibility of Malcolm having sexual intercourse with a woman is something which makes me cringe, and at the very same time, stifle a laugh."

"Harry! You're meant to be his friend."

"I am his friend. I'm sure he's similarly embarrassed by the idea of us rolling around under the sheets, doing unspeakable things to one another."

Ruth was about to move in for another kiss when she stopped, and turned her head towards the front door. "What was that?" she said. "I thought I heard a car door."

Harry looked at the clock on the cooker. "Seven-thirty- two. They're two minutes late. Malcolm'll be annoyed."

Ruth playfully hit him on the arm. "Harry – behave yourself. They're our friends and our guests, and we love them."

"I was just commenting on Malcolm's foibles. I didn't say I didn't love him."

The sound of the doorbell brought their speculating to a halt, as together they moved to the front door to greet their guests.

_Later …... 9.17 pm:_

"That was a lovely meal, Ruth," Malcolm said, after having eaten the last spoonful of his tiramisu.

"You _cooked_ this meal?" Jude said, herself not being a cook of any description.

"Harry helped, of course. I can't take credit for it all."

"A domesticated man, as well as a spy. You're a lucky woman, Ruth."

"I know I am. I believe Malcolm is also quite domesticated."

"He is, of course, but he doesn't want to show off his skills in the kitchen for fear of making me feel bad. We mostly eat out, which lessens performance pressure. In the kitchen, that is," Jude's final comment was delivered with a cheeky smile, with one of her eyebrows raised, and was intended to create unease in others. Harry and Ruth exchanged a quick look, but Malcolm appeared to not have heard.

After the meal was finished, they retired to the sitting room with coffee and whiskey. Harry poured generous measures of whiskey for himself, and Malcolm and Jude, while Ruth settled for coffee.

"The Olympics went off without a hitch," Malcolm commented, as he sat back against the cushions on the sofa. Jude sat some distance from him, at the other end of the sofa, while Harry and Ruth each sat in comfortable chairs. Normally of an evening, they would curl up together against the cushions at one end of the sofa, their arms around one another.

"Thanks to you, Malcolm," Harry said. "Do you have any idea when the enquiry will be held?"

"There's talk of it beginning in September, but I can't see that happening. There are rumblings about the Murdoch press, and there is likely to be an enquiry into that first. An enquiry into government practices, as important as it is, can take months of preparation, and much of it will be behind closed doors. Firstly, a Select Committee has to be chosen, and that alone can take upwards of three months."

"Are you two likely to be involved?" Ruth asked Jude and Malcolm.

"Through a barrister in the first instance," Jude replied. "My operations manager, Kelvin, has had to defend his practices on more than one occasion, and he has a really good barrister waiting in the wings to represent Malcolm and me."

"But won't you have to speak on your own behalf?" Harry asked.

"Not necessarily. It depends on who it is chairing the select committee." Malcolm took another sip of his whiskey. "We have all the details on record, including conversations between the Home Secretary and the PM. Don't ask how we managed that. It's a secret," he added, smiling at Harry and Ruth.

"What about Calum? Will he have to testify?"

"No," Jude chipped in. "He only accompanied me to the initial interviews with two of the journalists. His input was essential, but we can deliver the information without having him involved."

"I suppose you notice that the interim government is treading very carefully," Malcolm said. "They don't want to be implicated in any kind of scandal."

"How hard can it be for them to keep their noses clean between now and the election?" Ruth said.

"You'd be surprised, Ruth," Malcolm replied. "All it takes is a rumour, and …... well, mud sticks."

Ruth put down her cup, and thought for a while, her eyes on the pattern of the floor rug. "But what you had on them – the PM, members of Cabinet, the Home Secretary, the members of the JIC – it was real, wasn't it? You didn't just make it up."

"It was real alright," Malcolm replied. "Just ask Harry. They were about to hang him out to dry."

"But ….." continued Ruth, "what if it was all a ploy? What if it was a ruse to set up Harry?"

"What if it was?" Jude said. "It could well have been, but we found evidence that it was real, and that there was a plan to interrupt the Olympics opening ceremony."

"Yes, but …... I'm not questioning the plan," Ruth said. "I can see that this could have been part of a bigger plan …... a plan to kick Harry out in disgrace, and to disband Section D, so that in the future they could contract out all counter-terrorism tasks to private security companies. That would give the government of the day far more control over how counter-terrorism is conducted ….. from covert to overt." Harry opened his mouth as if to interrupt, but Ruth put her hand out in a `stop' gesture. "No, Harry, what if they had planned a terrorist attack, but they were planning to give you the wrong information? What if the attack went ahead, and there was loss of life? What if the Home Office then claimed that they had given you the information but you acted incorrectly, or foolishly? I'm not saying that was the intended plan, but it's possible …... don't you think?"

Malcolm coughed politely, while Jude let out a whistle. "Your lady is a dangerous woman, Harry. A mind that devious could get her on the wrong side of those in power. We need you with us, Ruth."

"Us?"

"Malcolm, me and Harry. We need your mind. It's scary. A bit like Malcolm's brain, if I may say so."

"Harry? You're working for them? _With_ them?"

"Only in an advisory capacity at this stage. When I talk to Malcolm on the phone, it's usually work."

"Okay."

Harry looked at her, trying to reassure her with his eyes. This was not how he'd planned to tell her about his involvement with the secret arm of Trinder Services.

"But …..." Ruth continued, "who pays you? You have to make a living, surely. Who employs you to rat on those in power? That's what you're doing, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't call it `ratting on' exactly," Harry said slowly, hoping – but knowing such hope is futile – that he can distract Ruth.

"Then what would you call it? Who pays for you to do that?"

"All manner of people," Jude replied, her voice steady and calm. "We've been doing quite a lot of work for MI5, seeing how understaffed they are."

"Erin is contracting out MI5's work? But isn't that what the previous government were trying to achieve?"

"The previous government would have given their security contracts to the lowest bidder, and preferably a company over whom they had more than a healthy amount of control, rather than the best for the job. Harry, Jude, myself, and you if you want to provide some part-time analysis, are the best in the business. Even if I do say so myself, they don't come any better than us. MI5 would do well to hire us."

_Harry's and Ruth's bedroom …. later … 11.32 pm:_

"I'm sorry you had to find out that way, Ruth. I _was_ planning to tell you."

"It's not so much your not telling me. I was bound to find out eventually. It's just that it appears the three of you have been discussing my usefulness before even running it by me. I would like to have been involved in that discussion, Harry."

Harry slid under the duvet and rested his elbow on the pillow so that he could look directly at Ruth, who was sitting up, her back propped against her pillow. "It was only a week ago that Jude first mentioned that your skills would come in handy. I thought I'd wait until she and Malcolm visited so that they could ask you. I'm sorry if that offends you."

"It doesn't offend me so much as surprise me. Not only is the man I love still involved in security, but he's in business with the same people who blew the whistle on the government, _and_ he's thinking of involving me."

"It's very covert work, Ruth. The only person who ever shows their face is Jude. I can tell you that she's a force to be reckoned with. The ditsy act is just that …. an act. When it matters, she's extremely direct, and sharp, and quick to react. And she's always been bright. She just hides it rather well. Malcolm has the technical wizardry, and I have the contacts and years of experience. Were you to join us as needed, we would be a complete security unit. You're the best analyst I've ever worked with."

Ruth reached out with her hand, and cupped Harry's face before she leaned across to kiss him. "Flattery works on me every time. You know that."

"So, you're not angry about it?"

"I'm not angry at all, Harry. Just surprised that this whole thing has been going on for so long without me knowing. You once told me I was a born spook. Some spook I've been. My husband has been spooking around behind my back and -"

"Say that again, Ruth."

"What? That you've been playing spies behind my back?"

"No, not that. What did you call me?"

"Harry. That's your name, so that's what I called you."

"No, you called me something else. You called me your husband."

"I did not!"

"I'm afraid you did, Ruth."

"Why would I call you that?"

"We-ell …... you did choose the name Ruth Pearce for your new identity."

"Oh, that?" Ruth looked a little uncomfortable. "I just thought it might be …... easier to remember."

"For whom?"

"For me, of course. After all, Harry, when I was about to be sent to Cheltenham to work, the last time I'd been truly happy was when we were living together …... as husband and wife."

Harry smiled at her, and touched her lips with his fingers. "I love you, Ruth Pearce, and we must do something about our legal status."

"If that was a proposal, then it would have to be the least romantic one ever made in the history of the world."

"Not a proposal, Ruth, but a warning of the imminence of the real proposal."

"Good. Every woman needs warning that she's about to be proposed to."

"You did call me your husband, though, Ruth."

"Did I? I must have been thinking ahead."

"I hope so."

Harry reached close to her, about to kiss her, but Ruth pulled away from him at the last moment.

"In all this pre-proposal excitement, I forgot to ask you …... where are Malcolm and Jude sleeping?"

Harry chuckled, running his finger from Ruth's lips down her throat and to the hollow in her neck.

"Enough of the attempts to distract me, Harry. It won't work on me tonight. Where are they sleeping?"

"In the spare room. Together."

"_Really_? Do you think they'll ….. _do it_ while they're here?"

"Why don't we turn off the light, settle down in bed, and listen?"

"You can't be serious."

"No ….. I'm not. How would we face them both in the morning if we'd overheard them bonking?"

"Somehow, I can't imagine Malcolm bonking."

Harry turned to his bedside table and turned out the lamp. He settled down in the bed, and drew Ruth close to him, so that her head rested on his chest, and his chin rested on the top of her head. "What word would you prefer, then?"

Ruth smiled as she listened to Harry's voice rumbling in his chest, creating a pleasant vibration in her jaw.

"I don't think Malcolm would bonk. Nor would he shag. God forbid he would ever screw. I think he'd know a woman intimately."

"That's sweet, Ruth. Of course, it begs the question …... what is it we do? Have you thought about that?"

"I'm thinking about it now." Ruth tapped her fingers on Harry's chest. "We definitely shag. We never just screw, but occasionally we fuck, which is quite nice in its own way."

"It is," he agreed.

"But mostly," Ruth continued, placing her lips on his bare chest, "mostly we make love."

Harry replied with a kiss against Ruth's ear. He was reminded of the times when he awoke in the early morning, aroused and erect from dreaming of her. It was always Ruth in his dreams, never the vague female forms which had inhabited his dreams when he'd been younger, and permanently horny. He'd been having these dreams about Ruth ever since he'd sent her to the safe house. Since they'd been together again after she'd `died', the dreams had occurred less often, but with increased intensity and fervour.

It is definitely Ruth in his dreams. He can feel her skin, the roundness of her breasts, the softness of her belly, and when her dream self looks up at him, it is her blue eyes he sees. He'll woo her with his hands and his mouth, and she will just have opened herself to him, smiling at him with love in her eyes, when he'll wake, fully aroused and hard, gasping at the unfairness of it all.

In those first hazy moments after waking, all he ever wants is to turn to Ruth sleeping beside him in bed, and bury himself inside her. No doubt a psychologist would tell him (were he ever to be so foolish as to share these dreams with anyone other than Ruth) that he has a deep unconscious urge to return to the womb from whence he emerged; that his drive to be deeply inside Ruth represents his desire to escape from the trials of his life, and to once more return to being a foetus, fully dependent on its mother for everything.

Harry knows that's a load of bollocks. His view of his dreams has always been that his desire for her overwhelms him, in sleep as well as when he's awake, and he also has a lot of catching up to do.

When he realises he is awake, he _has_ to make love to her, and apart from one time when she'd been all achey and choked up with the flu, and another when they'd had a massive disagreement the night before, she'd always willingly opened herself to him. He'll turn to Ruth and touch her and kiss her awake, laying his body over hers so that his erection throbs against her thigh, to let her know he is ready for her. Over time she has learned to recognise his post-dream state, and her response is immediate. She knows that at these times the love-making will be especially sensitive and intense, so she opens herself to him, wrapping her legs around his waist, and sighing as he enters her, slowly and carefully, despite his urge to push himself into her as quickly as he can, to bury himself as deeply as he is able to reach. She knows he has been dreaming about her, and she has come to terms with that. As she sees it, at least, he's not dreaming of some other woman, some unattainable image of feminine perfection. When she'd mentioned that to him, his reply had been simple, and so very Harry. "But Ruth, _you_ are my image of feminine perfection." In that moment, she'd hoped she could continue to live up to his image of her.

These early morning, limb-entangled, groggy-from-sleep sessions of love-making have become something they both look forward to, although it can never be planned or prescribed. It is the spontaneity, the warmth of the other body, the soft, pliable lips, the fumbling fingers, the mumbled words which speak only the truth, rather than some carefully prepared line from popular culture. It is the naked love on the face of the other which is seen only rarely outside these moments. It is the slow and smooth stirring from arousal to pre-climax. It is the smile on Harry's face as he gazes into her eyes, and the open adoration on Ruth's as she gazes back. It is in these moments in the early morning dark that they become wedded in a way which no formal ceremony, or pair of matching gold rings could ever deliver.

There is a pattern to how these sessions play out. There are no fancy moves or positions; it is just Ruth on her back with him laying between her legs. Foreplay is minimal, as their memories of other similar times induce immediate arousal. Once he feels her body beginning to move with him, and low moans from deep in her throat, he'll increase the speed and depth of his thrusts. They almost always climb together, and then burst together. Then they cling together, and still joined, they lie beside one another and sleep until they're woken by the daylight as it seeps through the bedroom curtains.

There have been times, as he has been waking her to make love to her in these moments in early morning, when he has wondered if it is selfish of him to wake her so that he can finish himself off inside her. He'd once shared those thoughts with her, and she'd been so upset by the suggestion that he'd never again mentioned it.

"Maybe I'm with you in your dream, Harry," she'd said, "and while you wake easily, I need your help to wake up. From our dream, we wake together and finish our love-making. What could be more romantic, more perfect than that?"

What indeed? He sometimes thinks he hasn't a romantic bone in his body. What he had feared was needy and selfish, Ruth had viewed as spontaneous and romantic. It was all a matter of perspective. He felt so very blessed to have her in his life.

When Ruth said, "mostly we make love," he knew she was thinking of their early morning, post-Harry's-erotic-dream loving. Only three weeks ago, she'd said to him, "Harry, if you ever stop having those dreams, can you pretend to still have them? I'd miss them if they stopped." And so would he.

They had each relaxed in one another's arms, waiting for sleep to take them, when Harry felt her body tense.

"I heard something. Harry ….. did you hear that? I'm sure I heard a bed squeaking."

"Sshhh …... they might hear you... and the bed in the spare room doesn't squeak. We already tried it out, remember? What you heard was the heating turning off."

"We haven't needed the heating for the past six weeks."

"This is an old house, Ruth. The wood creaks when it cools down. That must be what you're hearing."

"No, it was a rhythmic sound. _Listen_ …..."

"I can't hear a thing, Ruth."

"That's because your ears are older than mine. I heard something. I'm sure of it."

"Do you _really_ want to hear them?"

"Not especially, but I _really_ want to know the true nature of their relationship. I haven't noticed them holding hands, or doing any of the things we do."

"Then ask Jude tomorrow. She'll no doubt answer you truthfully, and perhaps even supply accompanying diagrams."

"_Really_?"

"No, Ruth. I was joking."

"You know, Harry, there are times when you can be such an arse."

He chuckled quietly into the dark, grasping Ruth tighter. "I love you too, Ruth."

"Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, my love."

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing. **__**I enjoyed writing this story so much that I've written a sequel – a one-shot which follows on directly from this. It's called, "Are They?" It will be up soon.**_


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